by Cari Quinn
Mal rubbed a hand over his head. “I told you, I’m not meant for the stage.”
“Oh, yeah? Why the hell not?”
“Because I lost someone the last time I did the whole public performance bullshit, all right? And I don’t want to sit here and pour out my heart to you, because the truth is I don’t fucking have one left. So if you do, good for you. I wish you well.” Mal rose. “If we’re done…”
“Actually, no, we’re not done. I’m camping out here for a while. My wi—Chloe has my place, so I need somewhere to crash.”
Mal’s brows lifted. “You gave your non-wife your apartment?”
“I’m hoping she’ll still want to be my wife when this is all said and done. In the meantime, I’m giving her space.” Michael grabbed one of the couch pillows and tucked it under his head as he stretched out. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’d cramp my style?”
“No. You’ll just fuck her and make me listen.”
Michael turned out to be correct in his assumption. Six long hours later, he wished he’d remembered to bring in his bags from the car. Headphones would obviously be a crucial part of staying at Mal’s.
One night there turned into two. Two turned into three. Three turned into more.
In no time, Michael had missed a couple of rehearsals, one for the biggest night of all—the Spectrum Awards. He hadn’t formally decided not to go, but apparently, between being all stoic and shit with Chloe and moving in temporarily with the sex machine known as his brother, he’d lost some of his mojo.
They didn’t need him for the telecast. His band could handle stuff just fine without him. Yes, they’d be performing, but only one song and Elle could fulfill his role. She’d be thrilled to take on lead duties for once.
He didn’t want to abdicate his responsibilities. Hadn’t he just given Chloe a big ass song and dance about becoming a good man for her? Too bad that only seemed to take precedence when she was actually part of his life.
“All right, asshole. You’ve spent enough time desecrating my sofa.” Mal kicked the end of it. “Either shell out for rent or get gone.”
“Where’s the brotherly love?” Michael rolled over and groaned. He’d been in the middle of a particularly good dream about a naked Chloe too. She’d baked him a cake inscribed with the words “lettuce pray,” which he didn’t get, but dreams were weird.
“In that crater your ass created in my couch. Look, if you love her this much, why are you still here?”
Michael debated acting tough, like Mal would in the same situation. But he was not his brother, and his toughness had vanished in the face of many days of radio silence. “I’m giving her time to decide I’m the love of her life.”
“Or to forget about you.”
“That’s a possibility too.”
“While she’s living in your pad and running up your utilities.”
“I think I can cover her wild Wi-Fi and hot water usage,” Michael said drily. “God, you are so romantic. My dick is practically quivering.”
“This isn’t about me. You don’t see me crying in my cornflakes or skipping out on my responsibilities.”
“No, you won’t even take them on. Ryan can’t play. He’s going to go on stage at the show and he’s going to be hurting when all you have to do to play drums is flex those mondo muscles and snarl.”
“Wrong answer. These aren’t my responsibilities. I get that you want me there, even need me there, and I’d like to help, but—”
“But you won’t.”
“You’re talking open-ended. A life sentence. I don’t even know what I’ll feel like doing a month from now, and you expect me to sign on forever?”
“You’d be surprised. Sometimes even forever doesn’t seem long enough.” Michael forced himself up into a sitting position. “Okay, forget forever. Let’s just talk a couple of months. How about that? Six months to start. If you decide by, say, mid-September that you’re sick of the band, then you’re free. No more phone calls, no more pressure.”
“And Stepmommy Dearest is okay with that too?”
“She will be,” Michael said confidently.
In truth, Michael had no idea if Lila would go for that plan. But she wanted Mal in the band, and six months of Mal was better than none.
Mal cracked his knuckles. “All right. You got yourself a deal. But now you’re really coming with me to Mom’s shindig next month, and I don’t care if you’ve got your wifey back by then. I’m not dealing with that shitstorm alone.”
“You got it. The way it’s looking, I won’t have my wife back next month or anytime, so you don’t have to worry.” He lifted his glass to salute Mal.
That it happened to be filled with last night’s water seemed particularly cruel, but whatever. At least he’d kept his oath not to drink alcohol.
He hadn’t touched a freaking drop.
His phone buzzed at his hip and he pulled it out. Lila. That was surprising not at all.
“One of these days you’re going to have to answer her,” Mal said.
“Why? You didn’t.”
“I can withstand a barrage from a woman way longer than you can, little brother. Might as well ante up and get it over with already. Maybe she’ll have good news for you about the little woman.”
Michael’s brain was fuzzy from crappy sleep. Mal’s couch sucked. “You mean Elle?”
“No, I mean your would be wife.”
“She’s not would be. She’s my will be wife—if she ever speaks to me again.”
Mal snorted. “Right.”
Michael took Lila’s call. “I have good news. Mal’s in the band.”
“Temporarily,” Mal added, walking to the doorway.
“Temporarily possibly forever.”
“Temporarily,” Mal repeated, offering Michael a raised middle finger on his way out of the room.
“Well, that’s some good news at least. Now, when are you getting your ass back to LA?”
Michael pulled at a loose thread on his jeans. Showering and changing his clothes had become optional since he’d been at Mal’s. As had been taking note of how long he’d actually spent channel surfing on that crappy sofa. “I don’t know yet. I need some time, L.”
“What you need is Chloe back. And yes, I’m surprised I’m saying this too, but more than ever, I’m convinced you need that girl in your life. Whatever it takes, make it happen. Consider it a public service for your band and the world at large.”
Michael nearly smiled. “That ball is in her court. Talk to her.”
“Oh, I will be. Don’t you worry. And since I’m fairly certain you have no intention of coming to the award show, I’ll say this much—make sure you’re watching. We’re expecting some pretty big revelations.”
“Big revelations, huh?” Michael fought back a yawn as he heard the shower turn on down the hall. Guess he’d have time to finish his nap, since Mal was occupied. “That sounds ominous.”
“It just might be. Make sure you’re watching, Michael. I mean it.” She clicked off.
He rolled onto his back and tossed his phone on the coffee table. He might not have heard a word from Chloe, but at least he’d snared Mal for the time being.
Looked like he’d be glued to the TV tonight.
Thirty
“Mika, Mama. Chopter.”
“I know, sweetie. We can do yoga chopper. Finish up your oatmeal and we’ll—”
“Mika!”
Axl’s shriek sliced through her brain. Honestly, he’d been good for most of the last few weeks, but there were moments when he fixated on Michael. When Axl wanted his chopper rides, of course. Story time had caused a few backfires, and there had been one awful night where he’d been certain a monster was going to attack him in the hours between midnight and dawn.
It had taken staying up until daylight to prove that Michael had indeed slain the monster all those weeks ago.
&nb
sp; Nights like that had tested her resolve not to sit in the middle of the floor and throw a hissy fit that would put her son’s to shame.
She missed him.
Missed him with an ache so big that her entire chest felt carved out. She slept in their bed—when she actually slept anyway—and she washed in their shower. She even managed to stand on their balcony and soak in the ocean scent without wanting to fling herself off the edge.
Every moment felt a little more separate, a little less. The entire place felt less because Michael’s booming laugh was missing. His shoulders didn’t fill up the doorways, and his minty scent didn’t infuse the sheets anymore.
She’d had a particularly bad moment in the shower as she bawled over his body wash.
So, yeah…she’d passed heartache and landed squat in the middle of pathetic. She’d nearly texted him a dozen times. Usually at two in the morning when she was at her weakest. He wanted her to take some time to figure out if forevers fit in a few short months of knowing him.
She’d known within half a heartbeat.
It seemed ridiculous to own that statement, but deep down, she knew it was true.
Her reaction to him on stage had certainly started her journey. Dancing in the club had cinched the lust factor. The only problem was that lust was easy. It was pheromones, hormones, and chemicals making the correct brew that ended in an orgasm if a person was lucky.
It was the love part that had snuck up on her.
The love part that she hadn’t prepared for.
The moment she’d seen the love bloom in his eyes for her son, she’d been so very lost.
Chloe crouched in front of Axl’s high chair. “I think we should go get Michael. Do you think that’s a good plan?”
“Mika.” He slapped the tray and crumbs and orange juice splattered both of them.
She laughed until tears started dripping from her stupid eyes. Yeah, it was well past time to go get him. She unbuckled Axl and swung him onto her hip. She was halfway out the door when she realized he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Some things couldn’t be corrected, no matter how hard she tried. Michael had broken her kid when it came to wearing clothes. She detoured into Axl’s room and got him dressed, grabbed her purse, then opened her front door.
Juliet and Ryan stood in the hallway.
“Oh, thank God.” Juliet pushed her back inside. “We need to talk, girlfriend.”
“What are you doing here?” A sudden and visceral fear left her breathless. “Is Michael okay?”
“No, he’s a hot mess. You guys are so fucking stupid.” Her dark eyes widened. “Uh, sorry, child-like creature.”
“Fuck!” Axl said with crystal clear clarity.
“Sure, you can say that word no problem.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Come on in.”
“You need to fix Michael. He’s broken, and I can’t deal with a broken guitarist in our band.” Juliet paced the length of her kitchen, then back to the fridge. She opened it and peered in. “Do you have something to drink?”
“Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper.”
“Bless you.” She rummaged around and pulled two out. She handed one to Ryan and cracked the top on her own.
That was fine, Chloe didn’t want one anyway. Resisting the urge to kill Michael’s bandmate might take a bit more than she had in her reserves.
Ryan sat at the table. “Don’t mind Miss Rude here. Michael’s been out of touch since you guys had your meltdown. He managed to play the show, but then he split.”
“That’s not like him.” Chloe went to the fridge and pulled out a soda for herself, and a juice box for Axl. She plopped him back into his highchair and set the box down in front of him. She stabbed the box with the straw and took a quick sip so he wouldn’t geyser it everywhere.
“Exactly.” Juliet took a drink from her soda. “Michael’s the responsible one. I can’t be taking up that job in the band. We might as well break up now.”
“No one’s breaking up.”
“Speak for yourself, Busted Hand Boy.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “She only has two modes, unconscious and manic. Ignore her.”
Juliet set down her soda and propped her hands on her hips. “I’m standing right here.”
“Could you stand over there instead? You’re making the kid nervous.”
Chloe held up her hand. “All right. I appreciate the whole banter thing you two have going, but you need to tell me where my husband is right now.”
“See, the thing is, he’s not your husband.”
Before Chloe could open her mouth to give Juliet the verbal beatdown she needed, the woman flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder.
“But I have an idea about how we can change all that.”
Thirty-One
“This is a bad idea. In fact, I don’t want to do this at all.”
Molly and Juliet tagteamed her on the side stage at the Spectrum Awards. “We’ve gone over this. You want Michael back, right?”
“Of course I want him back.”
“Then this is how it needs to happen.” Molly nodded as if it was all decided.
It so wasn’t.
In fact, she was pretty sure she was going to hurl all over her borrowed shoes.
Chloe swallowed down the spit that was trying to flood her mouth. “I don’t go on stage. That crap is all you guys. I’m perfectly happy—deliriously so—to stay on the sidelines.”
“Look, Michael is a good guy.”
“I know he’s a good—”
“Just listen,” Molly interrupted. She curled her fingers over Chloe’s shoulders. “I’m giving up accepting an award on national television because I believe in you two. So you’re going to walk on that stage and you’re going to tell the world that you love him.”
“Can’t I just hold a sign above your heads while you’re doing your speeches?”
“No,” they both shouted.
Chloe’s shoulders sagged. She nibbled the side of her thumbnail as one award after another was accepted. She’d rather hunt Michael down than do this.
Molly started bouncing. “Okay, we gotta go do the thing.”
Chloe was pretty sure even her freckles went pale.
“Sing. We’re going to sing, Chloe. You need to breathe or we’re going to end up scraping you up off the floor. And seriously, you don’t want to think about what’s on this floor.”
Yeah, that wasn’t helping at all.
“Don’t even think about escaping.”
Chloe turned to Lila. “Oh, awesome.”
Lila folded her arms. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t flee into the night like your…well, like Michael.”
“My husband. Because that’s what he’s supposed to be.”
Lila held up a hand. “Agreed.”
“Well, that’s something.” Chloe smoothed down the icy blue dress that was supposed to double as her wedding dress.
Wedding dress.
God, how dumb was she to do this? She banded her arms across her middle and bent at the waist. “Panic attacks are fine, right? Little dots aren’t terrible.”
“All right, calm down.” Lila came up beside her. “Just forget the crowd of people out there and pretend you’re talking into your phone.”
“Sure. Really big selfie stick.”
Lila let out a half laugh. “It’s all about control. You need to own it. This is nothing compared to getting that man back in your life.”
Chloe straightened slowly. “You know how I feel, don’t you?”
“I almost lost Nick because I was afraid. Don’t do the same thing. You were right, Chloe. We’re not so different.”
Chloe swallowed hard. “I love him madly. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” Lila smiled. “Now.”
The panic subsided and Chloe could hear the applause from the crowd. Evidently, her insane freak-out had only lasted three minutes and some change. Good to know. It felt like it was about five times longer. “Big girl panties activated.”<
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“Damn right,” Lila said. “Now go on and get out there.”
Chloe shook her hair back, then straightened her shoulders. Own it. Yep, she was probably going to own a front page spread thanks to her projectile vomiting on the front row.
She took a deep breath and walked across the stage as Warning Sign’s name was called.
They’d been nominated, but as with a lot of award shows, they wanted to make sure the winners were actually at the telecast, so it wasn’t exactly a secret.
Molly, Elle, Ryan, Juliet, and West crowded around the podium. All of them hopped up and down for a second. Molly waved madly. “Thank you guys so much. We really appreciate it. And if you don’t mind we kinda want to do something really special for our lead guitarist.”
Don’t trip.
Don’t fall.
Don’t throw up.
Chloe got to the glass podium. “Hi. I’m Chloe Adams. Actually, it’s supposed to be Chloe Shawcross. And this is a proposal going out from me to Michael Shawcross. You see, we did a crazy thing a few months ago. We got married after only knowing each other a few hours. Well, we thought we got married. Turns out we weren’t quite as insane as people thought and at the last minute, we didn’t go through with it. Mistake. Big one. I should have said yes, and now, I want to do the ‘I do’s’ for real.”
The crowd went nuts.
Chloe’s heart was going to explode out of her chest.
She held up her hands. “Wait. Wait a second, guys. Michael, meet me at the Little Elvis Chapel at one in the morning and let’s make it official.” The crowd became a wash of flashbulbs and watery faces. She blinked back her tears and smiled. “I love you. More than I could have ever imagined.” She stepped back and Molly and Juliet held onto her.
Good thing. She was pretty sure her ankles had dissolved.
The next few minutes were absolute chaos. Between the reporters and the people running the awards show, she was inundated with questions.
Lila handled them like a pro. Chloe was swept along between Ryan and West. A limo was waiting at the side door. They all piled in and headed to the private air strip where Donovan’s plane was waiting.