Reckless Beat Box Set #2

by Eden Summers

  “I don’t know.” Sasha shrugged. “I wish I did.”

  “Her sister thinks I need to push her.”

  “And what do you think?”

  He chugged his beer, pondering his answer. “I think I’m too scared to risk hurting her.” It had killed him to slam his truck door and walk away this morning. And he’d barely given her a nudge. How would he cope if he shoved her over the edge and she didn’t bounce back?

  “I’m not sure how she’s got you fooled. The Mel I know is made of grit and determination.”

  “That’s all fair and good to assume she’s the same woman, but what if I push her off the edge and she falls?”

  “And what if she soars?”

  Sean raised a brow. “Did you really just say that?” Jesus Christ. What the hell was he thinking? This woman spent most of her time admiring herself. Was he really going to listen to her drivel philosophy?

  “It made me sound smart, didn’t it?”

  He winced. He was on his own with this decision. Push Red and risk losing her. Or ride out the secrecy and watch it tear them apart. Either way there was a slim chance of obtaining what he wanted. What scared him the most was that he’d battled himself over his career and Sidney for so long now that he didn’t think he had much fight left in him.

  “Sweetheart, after mixing up nymphomania with necrophilia, I don’t think anything could make you sound smart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Melody hadn’t slept. The hours of darkness had seemed more sinister. The ache in her leg more prominent. Her heart yearned for the past, or a different future. Either one would be fine. Only neither was within her grasp.

  Or was it?

  She was lost. Uncertain. And the adrift sensation made her nauseated. She needed something. Anything. Just a glimmer of hope to kick her out of the depressing funk she’d immersed herself in. Unfortunately, the spur-of-the-moment call to her previous employer didn’t gain the result she needed. Jaxon Sharpe hadn’t been excited to hear her voice. She didn’t know why she expected otherwise.

  Well, maybe she did. Jaxon had been the last person to praise her. He’d adored her skills, never holding back on his vocal adoration in front of the entire dance crew. All she’d wanted was a glimpse of that praise. Maybe even a hint that he’d kill to have her back on his team. It wouldn’t take much to bolster her pride.

  It was delusional. A long shot. A seriously shitty idea.

  “Mel, I’m not going back on tour until next year. Even then, I’m looking at taking the dance crew in a different direction. It wouldn’t be a great fit for you.”

  It was a push. An aggressive shove backward into a depressive tailspin.

  Not that returning had been an option. There was no way she could dance in front of a crowd. But the harsh slap of reality pulled her up short. All he’d had to do was pay her a compliment. Tell her he couldn’t wait to see her back on stage. A mere mirror of the praise he’d given her in the past.

  Instead, she’d had to abruptly end the call, unable to hide the waver in her voice. There was no loyalty in her industry. There was none in Sean’s either. Beauty and public perception were everything. And yet again, she was made to feel like nothing.

  Yes, Blair was readily available to give biased compliments. Sean would, too. At least, until he learned the real woman beneath her concealing clothes. That wasn’t what she wanted.

  In honesty, she didn’t know what she wanted. But she knew enough to come to the conclusion that a future with Sean would be too hard on her lacking self-esteem. The early, brutally clarifying hours of early morning helped her set her path, and the future outlook broke her heart. The text she received from Sean once the sun rose was even harder to bear.

  Morning, Red. If you could turn up early this morning, I’d appreciate it. We’ve got a lot to talk about.

  Only they didn’t. She wasn’t going to turn up at all. Yesterday’s dance rehearsal had made the local late evening news. Her studio even received a mention. But it was the image of Sean leaving the hotel, side by side with Sasha, that reminded her she would never be good enough.

  She didn’t want another hour, not even a minute spent with jealousy weighing her down. It was a nasty emotion. Something she couldn’t handle. Sean wanted fame and recognition. She wanted seclusion, and a steady stream of choreography work to keep her income stable.

  Their dreams were in different realms, never destined to meet.

  As much as she cared for him, she couldn’t carry on knowing she’d be a damper on everything he was set to achieve. There was only one road forward. One path. And hers didn’t involve Sean, no matter how heartbreaking it was to admit.

  Instead of messaging him back, she emailed Leah, sending a brief note that she wouldn’t be attending today. She’d done her job. Sean and Sasha were more than capable of handling the final day on their own. Melody would only get in the way.

  She hit send, then crumpled to the floor, waiting for a reply that never came. Every second left her bereft. Every minute she pictured Sean turning up at the Hennabrook only to realize she wasn’t going to show.

  He’d be angry. Heartbroken. Probably shattered enough to push himself harder to nail the music clip. No matter how much the jealousy churned, she needed to hope for that outcome. Seeing him fail would only inflict more injury on her beaten soul.

  There was no malice in her decision, only the devastating realization that this would be her life from now on. The quietness. The loneliness. The sorrow that built with every brush of scarred flesh until she thought she couldn’t take the failure anymore.

  Hiding was the only option. She could feel it within herself. Every inch of her was highly strung, every nerve frayed. She was poised to break, merely waiting for the catalyst to push her over the edge.

  She needed to return to her normal routine. No love. No excitement. Just work. In no way was she giving up on life. If anything, she was more determined to find her groove. It just had to be in her own way and on her own terms. Baby steps.

  She wished Sean success and happiness. She wished him the world wrapped in a neat little bow.

  She just wasn’t the person able to give it to him.

  * * *

  Sean arrived early, scouring the hotel parking lot for Red’s car. She wasn’t here. Hadn’t returned his message from this morning. Or the ten calls from last night. He was getting worried.

  He strode into the ballroom, immediately hit by the bright glow of stage lights aimed at the dance floor. The room buzzed. Lighting, sound, and camera crews worked together, like ants in a field, placing the final touches on the room before they were scheduled to start shooting.

  Nobody else had arrived. Not Sasha. Not Leah. Or Ryan, who hadn’t returned his calls from last night either.

  “Hey, tiny dancer.”

  Sean closed his eyes at the sound of Mason’s voice, and worked to loosen the tie around his neck. This fucking suit was killing him.

  “Leave him alone.”

  Sasha’s tone only made the day’s outlook worse.

  But there was a group, numerous sets of footsteps approaching. Maybe Red was here. Maybe she hadn’t received his message to arrive early.

  He opened his eyes, turned, and got whacked with a wave of disappointment. Mason, Mitch, Blake, and Sasha strode into the ballroom, with Ryan slinking forward at the back of the group.

  Sean ignored the need to greet Mason with a jab to his ribs and jutted his chin instead, silently asking about the rhythm guitarist.

  “He’s doing OK,” Mitch murmured. “He passed out in my hotel room.”

  “And you didn’t think to let me know?” Sean knew Ryan could handle himself, but when his friend didn’t crash at the penthouse last night, he’d been worried. Not panicked enough to call the police—that would’ve been today’s plan. But concerned enough to be up all night wondering where he was. “You could’ve called me.”

  “I sent you a text.”

  “You sent that to me, assho
le,” Blake muttered. “Minutes after I left your hotel room.”

  Mitch shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  Sasha sauntered forward and rested her hand on Sean’s chest. “How you doin’ today? You ready to perform?”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t take his attention off Ryan. The guy looked like shit, puffy eyes, black bags underneath, yet he was scoping the room with determination, his brow furrowed as he maneuvered around people to search every inch of equipment.

  “Everything OK, Ry?”

  Ryan met his gaze. “Where’s Leah?”

  A cold shiver ran along Sean’s spine. The haunted dark-blue eyes staring back at him said it all. Something had happened.

  “Are you fighting with her again?”

  The rest of the band paused, expecting an answer they didn’t want to hear.

  Ryan scowled. “I just want to know where she is.”

  From Sean’s periphery, another figure entered the room, giving him hope it was either Leah or Red. He tilted his attention, only to be disappointed.

  A vaguely familiar man strode into the room, a nervous smile on his face. “Morning, everyone.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Mason muttered.

  They were all on edge, Ryan most of all if the way his gaze kept drifting to the doors was any indication.

  “The name’s Dylan. I’ve met you all before, at one stage or another. For the next few weeks, I’m going to be your temporary manager while Leah takes a short break.”

  Sean’s chest restricted. He chanced a brief glance at Ryan and found the color had fled his friend’s features.

  “A what now?” Blake broke away from the group, striding toward Dylan. “I’m pretty sure Leah hasn’t taken a day off since she was born.”

  The man inclined his head. “I’d assumed the same. But I’ve been told a situation occurred overnight that resulted in her needing time off.”

  Sean turned his focus, along with Mason, Mitch, and Blake, to shoot daggers at Ryan.

  “What the fuck did you do, man?” Mason marched for the rhythm guitarist.

  “Nothin’.” Ryan hung his head, betraying his guilt.

  The room fell into silence. All four of them—Sean, Mitch, Blake, and Mason—made a beeline for Ryan, getting comfortable in the guy’s personal space. The five of them were family. Unbreakable. Their support never wavering…unless one of them fucked with Leah, then all bets were off.

  “Has anyone else spoken to her since yesterday afternoon?” Blake stared at them all in question, noting each shake of the head before he settled his steely gaze on Ryan. “You were the last to see her. So spill. What the hell happened?”

  “Fuck off,” Ryan muttered, his eyes filled with so much sorrow Sean almost felt the need to back away. “She’ll turn up.”

  “Do you think she would’ve organized this knob jockey—” Mason jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dylan, “—if she planned on turning up? What the fuck went down last night?”

  Ryan’s brows were pulled tight, his glare trying to be lethal but held too much pain to back up the silent threat. “I’m outta here.” He strode forward, shoving Blake, who grabbed him by the bicep and yanked him back.

  “You’re not leavin’ until we know she’s all right.”

  “She’s fine.” Ryan’s face contorted in pain as he yanked his arm from Blake’s grasp. “We had a fight, that’s all.”

  “You better not have touched her,” Sean growled. He wanted to pummel something. Someone. He was so sick of hurting. Of aching. Of suffocating in pain he wanted no part of.

  Ryan blanched, his lips parting as if Sean had punched him in the gut. “You think I’d hurt her?” His voice barely registered. “I fucking kissed her, OK?”

  Hell.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Dylan was the only one stupid enough to break the silence.

  Sean glared over his shoulder, his blood turning volcanic as he pointed a threatening finger at the asshole. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “It was a mistake. I was…” Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Dylan’s voice rose. “This drama is the exact reason why our firm doesn’t allow relationships with clients. You know Leah will lose her job, right?”

  “And you’ll lose your teeth if you don’t get the fuck out of here,” Blake seethed, hitching his three-quarter sleeves higher up his tattooed arms.

  “I have no choice. I’ve been appointed as interim manager.”

  “Right now, you have two choices.” Sean approached the asshole, calm as shit on the outside, furious as hell on the inside. “Fuck off and live to see another day. Or stick around and see how long it takes for me to lose my temper.” He cracked his knuckles. Sneered. “I’ll fuck you up good and proper.” He wanted to. Badly. He needed an outlet. A way to vent all the shit that was tearing his insides apart. “I’ll enjoy it, too.”

  “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm—”

  “Cameron,” Sean yelled, hoping the bodyguard had arrived and was standing out of view outside the open ballroom doors.

  “Yeah?” Cameron entered the room, shoulders tight, nostrils flaring.

  “Get this asshole out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”

  Cameron inclined his head and strode forward, one big wall of threatening muscle.

  “Come on, guys, I’ve gotta do my job.” Dylan retreated as the large men approached. “Fine. Have it your way. No matter what you do, it won’t stop Leah getting in trouble from management.”

  Cameron grabbed the man’s bicep, twisting it so the asshole was forced to jerk forward. “You threaten Leah, you threaten us all.”

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Mason whispered at Sean’s side. “If he tells her boss, I’ll do it. I swear I will.”

  “Not one word, asshole.” Sean raised his voice as Cameron dragged Dylan from the room. His departure didn’t bring relief. If anything, the anticipation to find out about Leah became worse.

  “Spill,” Sean snapped, ignoring all the curious stares in the room to focus back on Ryan.

  “I told you, I kissed her.”

  “Where,” Mitch drawled.

  “At Sean’s apartment.”

  “No, dickhead.” Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “Where did you kiss her? A peck on the lips wouldn’t send Leah fleeing from her commitments to us.”

  Ryan flashed his teeth in a feral snarl. “This is not a joke.”

  “Do we look like we’re laughing?” Mason was in Ryan’s face, hovering.

  Sean placed a hand on the lead singer’s shoulder. “Cool it. We’re not going to get anywhere unless we all calm the fuck down.”

  “All we want is an explanation.” Blake stepped back, opening the group to allow them breathing space.

  “It was a kiss. That’s all.” Ryan spread his arms wide and let them fall to his sides. “We both said some nasty shit too.”

  “Before or after the kiss?” Sean muttered.

  “Does it fucking matter?”

  “It could. If you guys are only fighting because you’re a bad kisser, then I wanna know.” Mitch wiped the smirk from his face with a rough palm, then held his hands up. “Sorry. Sorry. I can’t deal with heavy shit. I fall back on sarcasm every time. It’s a sickness.”

  Sean rolled his eyes and focused on Ryan. “Just tell me she’s OK.”

  “I don’t know.” Ryan swallowed deep and glanced at them all in turn. “I was pretty fucking drunk when it happened. She won’t answer my calls.”

  Blake pulled his cell from the pocket of his black jeans. “I’ll try.” He dialed, placed the phone at his ear, waiting. “No answer.”

  “I’ll give it a go.” Mason did the same, shoving his cell back in his shorts moments later. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, Ry.”

  “You don’t think I feel bad enough already?” Ryan’s face crumpled. “I fucked up. I know I did. Tell me what I need to do to fix it.”

 
; “Maybe she just needs time to cool off.” Sean slid backward, needing more air. He glanced around the room, threatening everyone who dared glance his way and hoped they weren’t stupid enough to open their mouths about what just happened. “Or something completely unrelated happened.”

  Blake shook his head. “I think you’re grasping at straws.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much we can do about it.” Mitch walked backward toward the row of chairs along the wall. “We may as well pull up a seat and wait.”

  “Sean?” Sasha’s voice was low.

  Fucking hell, what now? He turned and met the concern in Sasha’s gaze as his friends took a seat. He jerked his head in question, unable to form words.

  “The crew is worried we’re losing valuable time.”

  He tried to focus. To concentrate on what he was here for. Fighting Against Attraction. He cleared his mind, breathed out the pain consuming his chest and looked at Sasha. Really looked at her. He tried to find a spark, a mere connection to give him the hope of pulling off the emotional component to make the music clip everything it needed to be.

  There was nothing. No attraction. No heat. No desire at all to pull her into his arms and dance with her in front of the cameras.

  “I don’t think I can do it.” He ignored a groan from one of the crew and dragged himself forward. “I’m sorry.” He took the pain in her features and added it to the torture consuming him. “I can’t go ahead with this without at least trying to get Red to do it with me first.”

  Sasha nodded. “I understand.” She gave him a weak smile. “Go get her. I’ll hang around just in case.”

  Pressure built behind his sternum, filtering out to his limbs. He was going to do this. He was going to lay it all down. No more placating. He’d tell her how it was between them, and how it was going to be in the future. He’d push her until he thought she was going to break, and then retreat and hope she pulled herself together without the need for him to step in and pick up the pieces.

  “Thanks.” He stepped forward, planting a hard kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”