by Cari Quinn
I loved her so fucking much.
“What Nick and I do is not your concern. As it’s not my concern what you do with Kagan—unless it’s on company property. I’d like to hope you’d employ more sense, but I certainly can’t make you see reason.”
“Right, I should employ more sense, but you never needed to? Got it.”
“You’re not comparing him to Nick?”
“It’s the rockstar thing, isn’t it? That’s your main problem with him. Just makes no sense, considering where you lay your head at night.” Zoe pulled on her bra and her shirt, then pushed her hands through her messy hair and glared at her cousin. “Unless you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and in—”
She broke off, and I swallowed.
Did she mean…
Fuck.
“I’ve forgotten nothing. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Zoe. That’s all.”
Lila’s cool tone had me turning over on one hip, not much caring if the throw fell. “I’m amazed you haven’t tossed my brother into this conversation yet. Surely I’m not half the man he is, either.”
“If you think flashing me your penis is going to change my opinion of you? Not hardly. Half the people who’ve paid for a ticket to your concerts have gotten a similar peep show. And FYI? You want to be very careful.”
That warning hit its mark. When it came to Zoe, I had to be so fucking careful.
Without looking back at me, Zoe snatched my pants and tossed them at my lap. Then she tugged on those infernal boy shorts.
“You don’t have to respect my relationship. I’d hope that you would, since you claim to love me. But you do have to respect my choices. You don’t get to look down at me for doing what you’ve done yourself.”
“It’s not the same, and you can’t possibly equate the two. Do you know him, Zoe? I don’t mean what he’s like naked. I mean him. Do you know about his past? He has one. Maybe you should ask him sometime.”
Rather than launching into a question-and-answer session with me, Zoe went toe-to-toe with her cousin. She wore only her underwear and a shirt, for fuck’s sake, and she might as well have been wearing Prada like Lila. She was in complete control of herself.
She was magnificent.
“You didn’t know everything about Nick when you started sleeping with him, so don’t pretend you did. And if you had? It was only because you’d been his boss for years. So don’t go down the road with me about professional commitments, either. I’m doing my job. The rest is separate. Ripper will get the photos and art I’ve been contracted to do.”
“And some extras too, if you’d like to look at the raw materials.” I nodded at Zoe’s SLR, sitting so innocuously on the side table.
Zoe flipped me the bird behind her back, and I swallowed a chuckle.
“I’ve always respected you, and I always will. But if you think I won’t worry about you now that you’re grown up and living in LA, you’re wrong. I’ll always risk your wrath if it means keeping you safe. And rest assured—I don’t fall for pretty facades. Ever.” Lila spared the briefest glance for me. “I’ll expect to see this studio empty when I check in half an hour.”
She didn’t waste time on goodbyes. The quiet slap of the door behind her was as good as it got.
I couldn’t say I minded her exit.
“She’s right, you know.”
When Zoe whirled toward me, I sat up and held up a hand. “Hear me out.”
Zoe crossed her arms across her marvelous chest and I tried not to look at her supple thighs beneath the tails of her shirt.
That outfit—or lack thereof—was not conducive to serious discussions.
“You have to know I’m rubbish for you. I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not the guy you bring home to Mum. Hell, you can’t even bring me home to your rockstar-married cousin, and she should be more sympathetic to my kind than anyone.”
Except I knew why she wasn’t, and it wasn’t because I toted around a guitar for a living. I just didn’t know how much digging she’d done into my past. Obviously, far too much.
And I’d better watch my step.
“You have some rough edges, and you weren’t born with a silver spoon. So what? We all make mistakes, we all do things we shouldn’t. That doesn’t change the core of who you are. I see that core every time we’re together. God knows I didn’t want to.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh and shoved a hand through her wild hair. “I wanted you to disappear. But you wouldn’t give up on me, and I’m so glad. I’ve never…” She blew out a breath. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I like it. Other than the panic attacks at three a.m.”
“That’s not panic attacks, love. That’s being strung out from needing your man.”
I barely managed to duck before she swung at me. I grabbed her arm and hauled her into my lap, giving her a hard kiss. “What I didn’t mention was, I need you just as much. I wake up thinking of you and sleep the same. You’re my light, Magic. Without you, there’s only the dark I lived with for my entire life until you came into it.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “What’re we doing here, Ian? Where are we going with this?”
“We’re already there.” It wasn’t the answer she was asking for, nor was it the one I ached to give. But though I’d halfheartedly tried to push her away, the truth of my situation with her was all I could offer. “I love you, and you love me.” When she shivered, I brushed her hair behind her ear and tipped her chin up to mine. “And that’s everything.”
She nodded and wound her arms around my neck. “It’s everything, but if you ever mention those pictures we took to anyone, I will tie your dick into a giraffe like a balloon animal.”
I wasn’t even entirely sure what a giraffe balloon animal looked like, but I had to laugh. And I kept right on laughing when she pressed her mouth to mine.
When we drew apart, I touched my forehead to hers. A selfish bastard I was, right down to the marrow. “Tell me you love me, Zoe. Just let me hear it. Please.”
Even if it’s just this one time.
She smiled, all sweet innocence and dirty mischief. “I love you, Ian Kagan.”
I shuddered and gripped her harder, needing to feel her warmth in my arms. So I wouldn’t forget.
So I could carry this moment with me and let it fuel me for the rest of my cold, lonely days.
The days that would surely come.
That I deserved.
“Your turn.” She brushed my hair out of my face, her eyes soft with affection.
“I love you, Zoe Manning.” I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. Finally, her mouth. “I love you this day, and will love you every day that comes after.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Is that all?”
“No.” I skimmed my thumb over her full lower lip. “Even when I’m gone, I’ll still love you. Forever.”
I only prayed that day wouldn’t come sooner than either of us expected.
Twenty-Eight
I was in love.
Me, the guy who rarely even had girlfriends. I’d skipped over dating and gone right to wanting to make a commitment.
I was officially crazy.
No. Well, yes, but not because I loved my girl.
Finally acknowledging my feelings for Zoe had made me even more eager to spend time in the studio. I didn’t know if all artists went into this mad fugue state of creating while living with heightened emotions, but it was having that effect on me.
Even dealing with the changeable moods of my brother while we worked on the songs wasn’t deterring me. I needed to make my music.
Also, staying occupied with it helped drown out the rest. The shit with Jerry. The checks I sent that would never be enough in their eyes, even if I mailed them off until my dying day.
Those X’d out photographs Zoe had mentioned so casually that had invaded my brain.
It had to be just my fans. But that word didn’t compute. If they liked me as an artist, they presumably cared about
me, right? Why would they harass someone who was important to me? I got it intellectually. Women thought they had a shot with me, so fuck anyone who got in their way. Just…whoa.
I had fans. Fans who wanted me on a visceral level that drove them to do things they normally wouldn’t. So insane after a lifetime of obscurity.
Still, that was a far better explanation than the alternative. Anything else refused to register.
My work was a welcome respite. Confusing, often frustrating work, but it took up my entire consciousness just the same.
I fell asleep in the studio. Woke there too. Day after day, night after night. I would’ve ditched my motel room and moved in there if I’d thought I could get away with it.
As it was, I spent as much time there as possible. Writing in my composition notebook until my fingers cramped and the pencil became a stub. Playing my guitar and then the piano until my hands ached and fragments of songs played even when I closed my eyes. Singing until my voice was shredded and all I could do was whisper and drink bloody hot tea.
When I wasn’t there, I was with Zoe.
Inside Zoe.
She’d had questions after the Lila interruption in the studio. I’d expected them, and I offered bits and pieces of my past. All truths, just not all of my truth. I’d told her about being expelled. About petty thefts. Minor assaults. That I’d grown up with a parade of men in and out of my home and a mother who’d burned me now and then when she wanted to deliver a message.
Neither of us mentioned who was burning me now. Because she knew quite well it wasn’t my mum.
Beyond that, Zoe didn’t press. She seemed to understand it wasn’t easy for me to discuss my past. God, if only she knew the half.
Sometimes she was busy when I wanted to see her or when I texted. Strangely enough, we both seemed to be in a creative period, perhaps thanks to regular multiple orgasms along with the requisite emotional component.
I was addicted to the woman and made no bones about it.
Even on the nights I stayed in the studio, I needed a hit of her. Couldn’t make it even twelve hours without one. So in the darkest hours just before dawn, when the next time I’d see her seemed just too far away, I’d dig out my mobile and hope she was still awake.
She always was.
Because she’d been waiting for me too.
It was foolish to hope. Hope got someone like me killed. If not in reality, in the soul. It was amazing I still had one left.
If I did, it was because of her. She was rebuilding me, piece by piece. I was that car Johnny Cash and his friend had built from parts stolen from the shops where they worked. Adding on to the vehicle day by day until it was done. The difference was, theirs hadn’t run.
But I was humming so hard and fast that I could barely sleep. Couldn’t settle. All I could do was write and play and sing and fuck the woman I adored.
I was even learning to play with others. Sort of. Deacon and Gray were easy to work with. If I came up with a germ of an idea and hung on to it like a pit bull, even if they disagreed, they found a way to make it work with my overall vision. Not that I was super clear on that yet. Rory rode the middle line between me and Deacon and Gray, sometimes agreeing with their ideas how to change a lyric, or more specifically, the production end of things. Sometimes he agreed with me.
Emphasis on sometimes.
Simon had been the wild card from the get-go.
At first, he’d seemed barely checked in to the proceedings. He’d pulled a microphone on a stand next to the couch he’d made his home and sang from there, rarely joining me in the booth that I’d found had better acoustics for my voice. Mine was lower than Simon’s, and raspier to boot, probably in no small amount due to the cigarettes I was sneaking far too often.
Stress, what? Not me.
But despite the certain damage I was doing to my voice, I liked the sounds I was producing. The growls I could dig down for before soaring to notes that weren’t as easy as they’d once been pre-smokes.
In time, Simon joined me in the booth. I waited him out. I wasn’t going to antagonize the guy any more than I already had. Probably stupid to pull back the throttle now, considering the way we’d begun, but I couldn’t deny I’d likely called him out on telly in the first place because I’d been pissed at the mounting pressure from Jerry. All I’d heard about in those days was Simon this, Simon that, and executing the plan.
I would be hearing the same now if I wasn’t burying my head in the sand regarding Jerry. Ignoring the bulk of his calls, sending the bits of money I had that wouldn’t cover a drip in a tin bucket, never mind the flood of my debts.
Fitting that I’d titled my EP Living in a Fantasy. Assuming the title passed muster with Sabrina and everyone else who had to sign off on it.
I was a cog in a wheel, but at least the bus was finally rolling.
“You’re scheduled for voice lessons next week.”
Still hanging on to the microphone, I dropped my head back and groaned. “Jesus, Rory, I’m just waking up—”
“You’ve done three takes and guzzled that swill you call coffee besides. You’re awake.” Rory hopped up on the edge of the console where Deacon was seated. He moved levers and pushed buttons, all to bring the best out of my voice.
I could admit I was off this morning. Too many nights spent catching sleep on the studio sofa with a pillow and a notebook jammed under my head. Other nights were filled with Zoe, where rest was not a priority. Because I’d rather fall over than miss a minute I could spend with her.
They were few already, and dwindling.
I closed my eyes and smiled at the memory of her shoving a takeaway cup in my hand filled with her coffee this morning. She’d made it special for me. Rory could call it swill, but to me, it was liquid gold.
“You expect me to sing at inhumane hours. Only the two of you can get in here so early. Even Gray can’t manage it.”
“Gray was up last night with a toddler who had a bad dream. Pretty sure you weren’t occupied thusly.” Rory cocked a reddish-gold eyebrow at me and smirked.
“Thusly? Christ, mate, the English professor bit is getting old. Or is that just your jealousy talking since you haven’t been shagged in a fortnight?”
“Fortnight? Ha. Been a bit longer than that.”
“Pitiful. No wonder that stick up your ass is growing roots.”
“What kind of shagging do you think I’m doing, exactly?”
I had to laugh, hanging on to the microphone for support. I was more than a little lightheaded. No sleep, too much coffee, and too many glorious activities that sapped my fluids all added up to one fucked-up Ian.
And that wasn’t even counting the worries that chased me in the quiet moments, no matter how I tried to pretend they didn’t exist.
“As fascinating as this is, let’s take it from the top again.” Deacon shifted away from the mixing board and nodded at me. “Simon will be here soon, so it’d be good if you had this part nailed before he arrives.”
My amusement fled. Right. Simon would arrive, and I’d be even tenser than I was right now.
I nodded and sucked in a breath. “From the top.”
Deacon hit the acoustic track we’d put together before we called in the studio musicians to lay down the finals. I suspected this wasn’t the usual way of things, but I was so green they were letting me ride with training wheels just now. I appreciated it, even as I vowed to get better.
Starting now.
I cleared my head, letting the opening strings of Gray’s guitar fill my head. I popped in the other in-ear monitor, though I liked to leave one out to get a read on my pitch. That wasn’t what I needed now.
I needed to get lost in the song I’d written with a little help from Rory and Gray, along with some grumbling and snark from my brother.
Bring me to my knees
I’ll be the sinner for you
Broken, on my hands
Crawling back
Oh, you know I can’t stay away
Is all I need
Open a vein
Make me bleed
Oh, baby, make me bleed
Your sweat is my poison
My salvation
Let it out, all out
Magic mystery
Bring me your pain
Wrecked at your altar
Aching to be yours
Take what you need
Make me bleed
Oh, baby, make me bleed
I bowed my head and repeated the last words over and over, ending with the broken whisper I’d fought for. I pulled out one of my in-ear monitors—then lifted my head again as another voice joined in, starting the song over as if I’d never sung at all.
Deacon scrambled to reset the track, and I stared at my brother, still standing in the doorway of the studio, cordless mic in hand. He stared back at me and sang the words I’d slaved over.
My words, sung by Simon Kagan.
The Simon Kagan.
It didn’t matter he was my brother. Right then, he was simply someone I’d idolized. No matter that I’d tried to pull him down to my level, to insinuate I was as good or better, the reality was that he was a god. And I was just a pretender to the throne.
I wasn’t fully conscious of opening my mouth again. When the bystander became a participant. It wasn’t about doing another take or outdoing Simon. I couldn’t think about that. All I cared about was the simple pleasure of singing, of relaxing my throat and letting the words in my head free. My voice lifted up and joined with Simon’s. Tangling together, each somehow still distinct. Yet harmonizing in a way that made my shoulders buzz and an unwelcome heat build behind my eyes.
Of all the dreams I’d harbored, this was the culmination of them.
One I’d never dared to voice, even to myself.
Getting to sing with my brother.
My brother.
I whispered the words at the end, repeating them as I had during the take before. Then I pulled out my other in-ear monitor and moved to the door on the opposite side of the booth, wrenching it open and crossing through the studio to get to the fresh air on the other side.