by B. B. Miller
“Why is she even coming?” Brodie asks pointedly.
I scowl at Brodie. “It’s none of your fucking business. Why do you care?”
“I care about you, idiot. I’ve seen you go through this before. You think she’s any different than any of the other whores you’ve been with? That she’s different from Michelle?”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about Michelle.”
“You’d be surprised what I know.” He leers, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing surprises me anymore, particularly where you’re concerned.”
“Who was there to pick up the pieces when you two broke up?” he asks, his voice gritty. I’m not much taller than Brodie, but right now, he looks weak and small, like a punk kid who doesn’t know when to shut up. “Or how about after Robin? Who was there for you then?”
The thin thread I’ve been holding onto snaps, and I grip his leather jacket, pushing him back against the table. “You didn’t know a thing about—” I feel my heart shudder at the mention of Robin, my fists tightening against the leather. “Don’t you dare say her name.”
“Kennedy.” I hear Cam’s voice drift to me. “Come on, man. We’re here to celebrate the start of the tour.” He moves beside me, trying ineffectively to push his arm between us.
“Look at you, you still can’t even talk about her,” Brodie sneers. “I can see what’s going to happen here. Fuck, if you want a piece of ass, there’s plenty to go around.”
His flippant comment just about sends me over the edge, and I try to shoulder Cam out of the way. “You don’t know the first thing about what I want. Do your job and keep your mouth shut. I’m not going to warn you again.”
“Everybody just relax. We’re exhausted, and more importantly, we need the group photo for the Instagram account. The world awaits our glorious presence in my homeland,” Sean orders steering me away from Brodie.
“How did you get access to the Instagram account, anyway?” Cameron asks.
Sean nudges him in the ribs. “Because I’m a ray of sunshine, unlike you.”
“Grasshopper, make room!” Sean yells, crawling into Matt’s lap and causing the hanging bubble chair to swing.
“Will that hold you both?” Tucker asks.
“It had better if Matty plans on enjoying quality time in it. Gather ‘round.”
Cam snorts out a laugh, leaning against one side of the chair while I take the front. Always the frontman. The burden, the spotlight, the criticisms, the accolades, they all fall to me first. Sean passes his phone to Cam, and he holds it out. Trying to frame us in the shot is easier said than done, with the chair constantly swaying. “Jesus. It’s like we’re drunk already. Say mother-fucking cheese,” Cam instructs.
We all yell the words in tandem, the flash blinding me slightly in the dimly lit room.
“Now, time to celebrate selling out this first leg of the tour in style!” Sean yells, pushing off Matt and moving to the bar.
Tucker drifts beside me. “Ready to go? Remember that thing for Abby?” Tucker asks while I try to ignore the questioning glances of my bandmates. I know exactly what Tucker’s plan is: get me away from temptation.
“See? Pussywhipped!” Sean shouts, but I glance at my phone regardless.
It’s been hours since I texted Abby when we landed, and I shouldn’t be disappointed about the delay in her response, but I am. I scowl, reading her message.
Glad you made it safe. I’m just heading out for the night.
In other words, don’t bother me? A wave of unease rolls through me. Heading out for the night can mean a million different things. Some other guy? Or maybe it’s just with friends or her family. It’s hard not to jump to conclusions when you’ve been burned and have the lingering scars to prove it.
I try to tame the rising annoyance, typing out a reply.
Enjoy it.
Lifting my gaze to Tucker, I turn away quickly from the bar. “We should go.” Before I do something I’ll regret.
I stare up at the intimidating century-old church, my heart in my throat. Ivy climbs the walls, massive wooden double doors wait to be opened. There’s a marble statue of an angel beckoning me inside. “You really think this is going to help?” I ask Tucker, as we sit in the back of the SUV. A new phase in Tucker’s plan that he’s been on me about—AA meetings—is about to begin.
“I think you don’t want go to rehab.” He pauses, frowning a bit. “You were right about that actually. It didn’t help the last time.”
“I’m sorry, what was that? Did you just say I was right?” I tease him, if only to delay the inevitable.
“It’s an open meeting. Anyone can attend, and I can go with you this time. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Raking my hand through my hair, I stare back at him, feeling my jaw tense. “You really think I’m an alcoholic?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what you think.”
“You’ve been reading the AA website again, haven’t you?”
“You must remember the questions they ask,” he challenges. “Have you ever have blackouts? Have you told yourself you can stop drinking but keep getting trashed anyway? Have you tried to stop drinking but plowed through a bottle of Jack the next day?”
“Fuck! Enough, all right? You’ve made your point.” I peer out the window, taking a shaky breath. “And yes, I’ve read the website. Repeatedly.”
“Look, Kennedy, I can pick you up and bring you home as many damn times as it takes. I can tell you not to take a drink. I can run you ragged on a treadmill until you’re too tired to do anything but collapse into bed. But, I can’t help you with this. I have no idea what it’s like for you.” He nods his head at the massive church. “They do. They’ve all been there.”
“One step at a time they say, right?”
“Right.”
I push open the door to the SUV and take that first step.
“You want to talk about tonight?” Tucker asks as we cruise the streets.
“Nope.”
“All right, then.” He turns to gaze out the darkened window of the SUV. I know he wants to go over the AA meeting and what it means, but I’m totally drained. I didn’t say a word in that church. Just sat and listened, and what I heard is going to stick with me for a long time. The words run on a loop in my head. “I lost everything . . . It destroyed my family . . . I thought I knew what rock bottom was.”
Given what I’ve read, and the articles Tucker insists on leaving me nearly every day, I know this road is a long one. A lifetime commitment. Tonight was just the beginning.
We stop in front of the hotel, and Tucker scans the area before pushing open the door and letting me out. I take a much-needed breath as we head into the lobby. “It’s going to change things, me not staying with the band.”
He turns back to me. “Change can be a good thing.”
“Sean’s right, though. We are family. I’m not going to be able to just shut them out. I don’t want to.”
Tucker studies me for a moment as we wait at the check in desk. “You know what I’ve found over the years? Sometimes family isn’t good for you.”
Abigail
I have trouble keeping the grin off my face as I peer out my office window. Even Hank the gripman commented on my chipper mood. I actually managed to beat Tessa into the office—a rarity. However, after my early, but oh-so-welcome wakeup call, I’d decided to just come in and face the day. I’ll have to get my game face on before she gets here and begins her inquisition.
With a blissful sigh, I close my eyes and think about yesterday. The feel of his hands gliding over my skin, his warm, spicy scent, and the sound of his voice whispering and panting in my ear. Nothing could’ve prepared me for him. It was like being consumed, possessed even, but also treasured, like I was a rare treat he was honored to have. He was breathtaking.
A shiver of desire, mixed with a bit of fear, runs through me, and I take a deep, steadying breath. God, I hope I’m not making a mistake
.
I hear Tess’s purse drop on her desk, and I know my respite is over. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?” She stands in my doorway with her hands on her hips. “The rock god shows up, Nadia makes an ass of herself, you leave with said rock god, and all I get is a text later saying to cancel the rest of your appointments for the day?” Her exasperated voice is climbing through her upper registers.
“Yes; what the hell, Abby?” April chimes in as she brushes past Tess and seats herself on my sofa with an expectant look on her face.
“Erm, well . . .” All my prepared explanations evaporate, leaving me struggling to maintain my usual placid demeanor. Based on their shocked and eager expressions, I’m sucking at it.
“Oh, my God,” April breathes, her eyes lighting up behind her chic glasses. “It’s true, isn’t it? You and Lane have a thing.”
Tess’s eyes practically bug out of her head as I scramble to find words.
“No—I mean, we didn’t, at least not until yesterday afternoon. It was purely business until—”
“Until it wasn’t,” April finishes for me. Shaking her head, a small, amused smile on her lips, she sits back and crosses her legs, smoothing her immaculate trousers. “Okay, let’s have it. Not everything,” she cautions, seeing my alarmed expression. “But I need to know the basics so I can prepare in case we need a statement of some kind.”
I tuck a stray hair that has escaped behind my ear with a sigh. She’s right. I don’t know where Kennedy and I are headed, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be exposed in the press eventually, probably sooner than later. It’s always better to be prepared.
“It’s as I’ve explained previously. All my interactions with Kennedy, up until yesterday afternoon, were business-related. We discussed my earlier concerns about his involvement, Parker’s health and his dream, and—oh, April, he’s got some fantastic ideas,” I blurt, my grin escaping. “In addition to his personal interaction with Parker, he wants to pull some other names together for a benefit concert. I mean big names—Bono, the Foo Fighters. Even Ed Sheeran. It could be incredible—one of the biggest things we’ve ever done. If he can pull it off, it’ll give Parker the thrill of a lifetime.” My voice rings with excitement; I can’t wait to see Parker’s face when he actually meets Kennedy, and I’m hoping that he’ll be well enough to enjoy it.
She blinks in surprise, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. “Holy . . . That would be amazing, for Parker and for the foundation. Sheeran and the Foo would be a great draw among the millennials.” But then she cocks her head and looks at my slyly. “Stop distracting me. We were talking about you and Lane.”
“Well, you see, we just . . .” I flounder, while watching their matching grins grow with every passing second. “We were talking about all his ideas, and then . . .” I can feel my face heating to thermonuclear levels.
“Holy shit.” Tess looks like she’s about to pass out. “Did you—”
“Not our business,” April cuts in, giving me a wink, and my shoulders slump in relief. “Is there anything else we do need to know?”
“Um, yes, actually. I’m going to take a few days off to go to London for a few days.” My voice drops to a mumble while I squirm under their scrutiny.
“He’s asked you to go on tour?” Tess squeaks, and I frown at her.
“No, of course not. It’s just a few days, no more than a week—”
“But, Abby,” she practically whines. “If you’re only going for a few days, why go at all then?”
“Because he invited her, obviously,” April sums up. “And that’s all we really need to know right now, right?” I smile at her gratefully and feel some of my anxiety wane.
“Right,” I say, trying to get back to business. “So, Tess, can you please get my appointment list so we can start deciding how to reschedule the next few days?”
She immediately disappears back to her desk where I can hear her firing up her computer. Casting a glance out my still-open office door, April quickly rises and shuts it before turning back to me. I tense, worrying what is going on behind her intense gaze. But then, she chuckles. “Nadia is going to lose her shit.”
I smile grimly at the reminder. “What happened after we left?” I sit on the edge of my desk, facing her. My consternation increased as she rolls her eyes.
“You mean, after she had her ass handed to her by a client?” April’s dry tone crackles. “What do you expect? She walked out with her face flaming redder than yours is now, completely ignoring Tess and me, and stalked back to her office. She left for the rest of the day, probably so she could start working on her resume.”
“She quit?” I ask with surprise. Shit, if she quit, there would be no way I could go to London. Not that my schedule was the most important consideration, I quickly scold myself.
“Hell, no,” she retorts with a derisive snort. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks her term here is tenuous at best. You know Nadia—she’d rather leave on her own than be fired for cause.”
“What are you going to do?” April looked at me seriously. “I mean, Nadia was totally out of line, but she’s . . .”
“I know. She’s incredible at her job.” Besides this one instance, I’ve never known Nadia to step over the line with a client. We’ve all acknowledged how handsome various donors have been over the years, but none of us has ever acted like that. It was completely out of character for her. I feel a twinge of guilt—how is what I’ve done any different? I skipped right over eyefucking and cleavage flashing to jump right into bed with a client. Except . . . It is different, damn it, even though I’m not sure I really want to examine the reasons why right now.
“You obviously have to address it. I still can’t believe she was that stupid.” April shakes her head. “What else do you have planned?”
“I asked for an appointment with Ralph for today.”
She nods in approval. “Good move. If you have him behind you, she won’t get any traction, in case she hasn’t come to her senses yet.”
“That was my thought, too.”
April moves back to my door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Have Tess assign whatever meetings to me that you need to move. Just be careful,” she says quietly, her dark eyes concerned. “I’m happy for you, truly. Despite whatever seeds of doubt Nadia was trying to sow out of jealousy, no one is going to question your motives. But the kind of crazy that surrounds Lane and Redfall is on a whole different level than the usual celebrity bullshit. Not that you can’t handle it, but just be careful.”
“Mr. Shepherd will see you now, Ms. Walker.” I smile my thanks at the middle-aged receptionist and stand, tugging my suit jacket down. This conversation could be beyond awkward, but it needs to be done. I won’t have anything hanging over my head.
Straightening my shoulders, I steel myself and swing open the heavy office door. Ralph Shepherd, CEO of one of California’s largest financial brokers and the president of What’s Your Dream’s board of directors, greets me with a cordial smile. “Abigail. So nice to see you. What was so urgent? How can I help?”
I smile automatically, but don’t allow myself to relax. Ralph has always been one of my biggest supporters, but I have no idea how he’s going to react to my news. “Thank you for making time for me on such short notice, Ralph. I’m heading overseas for a few days, but need to apprise you of a certain situation before I leave.”
“In person?” He raises his bushy, iron-gray eyebrows in mild surprise. “All right. Please, sit down.” He gestures to the small grouping of chairs gathered around a low table at one end of his spacious office. Once we’re comfortably arranged across from each other, I take a deep breath and dive in.
“You may recall from our last meeting that we went over the most recent list of dreams in progress. One of those dreams is for a boy named Parker Jensen.” I pause as Ralph glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully.
“Oh, yes,” he comments, remembering. “The boy with the rock-and-roll dream, right
?”
I nod. “Yes. His dream is to meet his idol, Kennedy Lane, the lead singer for Redfall. As I think I mentioned during the meeting, I wasn’t sure at first if Mr. Lane would be the most suitable candidate. However, Mr. Lane assures me that our trust in him won’t be misplaced, and he’s working on several things that I think would be fantastic for Parker.” I quickly outline some of Kennedy’s ideas, and am pleased to see Ralph’s impressed expression.
“Sounds wonderful. I won’t pretend to understand all the ins and outs of the music industry, but it sounds great.” He gives me an appraising look. “Why do I think there’s more to the story?”
“Yes.” I swallow down my sudden nerves. “Well, during the course of discussions regarding Parker’s dream, Kennedy and I, um . . .”
“Kennedy?” Ralph’s eyes narrow. My palms start sweating, but I keep on going.
“Um, yes. We’ve become, um, quite friendly and I feel that, in the spirit of transparency and full disclosure, I need to let you know about our, um, friendship. You see, he’s the reason I’m taking a vacation—an unscheduled vacation—for a few days.”
He braces his elbows on the arms of his chair and steeples his fingertips in front of him. “I see,” he rumbles, his face impassive.
“I assure you, Ralph, that my personal relationships will not have any bearing on the foundation’s work. Regardless of what happens, Parker’s dream will be fulfilled,” I declare earnestly, trying to keep the assertiveness that’s been bubbling up within me since Kennedy’s “you deserve a life” speech in check. It’s not easy.
Ralph grunts and shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “How did this start, if you don’t mind my asking. Who pursued who?”
I can’t help my tiny smile as I remember the feel of his chest pressed against mine during our subway trip back in New York. “He’s very tenacious.”
He purses his lips. “Are you sure he isn’t just using the foundation to get to you? Will he still follow through with the dream fulfillment if your friendship goes south?”
My stomach twists as his question sinks in. Is it a possibility? On paper, I suppose so. I could just be a challenge to him. He could be laughing his ass off right now with his band about how I finally caved. He could be . . .