Reverb

by S. M. West

  The feeling is for someone else, someone I can no longer have, but at least I feel something. But right now, there’s nothing, and that’s just as well.

  She might be my PA, and I try to stay away from the help. Try is the operative word here because I have failed, and in the end, it just makes things messy. I don’t need the headache.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah.” She curls a few strands behind her ear and bats her lashes. She isn’t so doe-eyed and innocent as she wants people to think she is.

  “You’re my PA?”

  There was a time when potential embarrassment would have prevented me from asking. I should know her name at the very least, if I’m signing her paychecks. It’s the decent thing.

  But my decency is long gone, and anyway, most people don’t care to know me, Jared Grange, the person. Opportunists, every one of them.

  They all want a piece of the rock star. Some even audacious enough to strive for more, for all of me. Greedy fuckers.

  The even sicker part of that? I used to get my rocks off on that shit. Being a god among mere mortals, or at least that was how I’m treated. Do I believe it? Nah.

  Yet it’s a fucking powerful feeling. And the rush, magnificent. But the thrill gets old fast, especially when there is nothing personal or real about it.

  If it wasn’t for my passion for music, the only lifeline I have left of her—my thumb and forefinger rub the smooth resin of the guitar pick—yeah, if not for the music, I’d have left this rock star life like Silas.

  Instead, I’ve seen the cold, hard truth. The people in this industry are no different than what I grew up with in the system. Sad to say, but they’re users and they won’t get to me. Rather, I’m down in the trenches with them. Not pretty but true.

  “Yes. I’m new. Dana’s showing me the ropes.” She points to the redhead who is furiously taking notes while Bianca talks a mile a minute. “She’s Bianca’s PA.”

  “Get me a drink.” My gaze flits to the bottles of booze on the bar.

  Done with the chitchat, I slink to the couch, playing with the forget-me-not pick while she fixes my drink.

  Sarah, my blonde puppy dog, dutifully does as she’s told. The vixen holds out the scotch and I stare, blankly. It would be so easy. Glass to my mouth and the amber liquid sliding down my throat in one gulp. Fuuuck.

  “Water.” I grit out through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” As if a swatted fly, she buzzes away, unsettled.

  She returns with sparkling water with a lime wedge perched on the rim of the glass. The woman waits patiently at my side, watching my every move.

  Annoyed by her hovering, I stroll to close the door behind the last of the group. Only B and our PAs are left.

  “You okay?” My manager eyes me warily.

  Her gaze lands on the ice cubes in my now-empty water glass. She must see the defiant glint in my eye as I crunch a few ice cubes between my teeth like a wild animal. She grimaces.

  We’re having an age-old argument that needs no words. She isn’t my mother. I’m ultimately responsible for my actions.

  “I’m fine.”

  Today was too much of the crap I don’t like. The power struggles, politics, and money underpinning it all. I just want to play music.

  “I’m going to make a few phone calls.” If she’s hurt, I can’t tell when she looks to her phone, avoiding my gaze, then to the main door of the hotel suite. Is she expecting someone?

  “I’ll head home, or maybe go see Silas.” With a hand to my front pocket, I release the pick and feel for my phone. Not there.

  “Ah, can you wait a bit?” Now she’s chewing at the inside of her cheek, a nervous tic that is so unusual for my controlling manager.

  “Suure, but what’s going on?”

  I eye my phone on the dining table where I left it during the discussions, and head in that direction. The mind-reading blonde, which I find creepy as fuck, darts there and back, handing me the phone.

  “Nothing. Dana and Sarah, please go on in and I’ll be there in a second.” She points to the master bedroom. “Oh, and Dana, get Ned on the phone.”

  The girls scurry into the room, both glancing back at me when they are sure Bianca isn’t looking.

  “Someone’s coming to speak with you, and once they arrive, we’ll leave.”

  She’s twitchy, not readily looking me in the eye, and it’s giving me an uneasy vibe that I’m not used to from her.

  “Who?” I slide a hand into the back pocket of my leather pants.

  “That’s not important.” She falters as if contemplating whether to say more.

  “Why are you being cryptic and shit? Does it have anything to do with what Derek said earlier?”

  The douche exec had boring ideas for how to announce my solo career, and whenever he’s shot down, he lobbies Bianca to get me on board. I hate that guy.

  “No. I’d better get to those calls.”

  She starts to turn on her heel but pauses when I raise an eyebrow and clear my throat, not satisfied with her lame evasion techniques.

  “Fine. Be that way, but if the wait is too long, I’m out.” My arms fold over my chest, reminding her who is in charge.

  She flicks to the glass in my hand again. It’s fucking melted ice. Water. I march over to the bar, making sure she watches me dump its contents down the drain.

  My pointed gaze challenges her to say anything else on the matter. Rolling her eyes, she continues to the room.

  “Hey.” My voice booms and she peers over her shoulder. “Since when do you allow PAs to dress like those two?”

  I tilt my chin in the direction of the scantily clad women on the phone only feet away in the bedroom. Again, with the eye roll, she walks away.

  Something is up. This isn’t like her to tolerate their clothes or eye-fucking me as if today’s meeting was some after-party.

  Shaking my head, I walk to stand by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at downtown Los Angeles. A small hand glides up my back and over my shoulder.

  The redhead steps in beside me, batting her lashes and leaning into me like a cat rubbing up against its owner’s leg.

  “Can I get you anything?” This woman is crafty to have snuck out of the bedroom without being caught or stopped.

  Again, I’m surprised Bianca isn’t out here, scolding this chick. Nothing gets by her and yet, today it is like we’re in the Twilight Zone.

  “No. Don’t you have someone to call or something?” My indifference isn’t hard to detect.

  “No, and you looked lonely out here.”

  Needing space, not the temptation, I saunter to the center of the room, and like my shadow, she matches me step for step.

  I’m not interested, but old habits die hard. It’s easier to give in, lose myself, and get off than let her down easy. It’s easier to kill the pain briefly than give a fuck.

  I guess I’m no better than anyone else.

  “Look.” I spin to face her, and she grins up at me like she’s hungry and I’m dessert.

  “I’m a huge fan,” she purrs. “And I’m open to anything.”

  Two fingertips, like legs, scissor a path up my chest. I wrap my hand around her wrist to stop the seduction.

  “Donna.”

  “It’s Dana.”

  “Whatever. Get back to work.”

  “I’ll be quick and it’ll be incredible, I promise.” Her hand slips from my grasp, dropping to cup my junk.

  Still nothing. Not even a dick twitch. Well, except annoyance at her predictable attempt to seduce me.

  Just then, my bodyguard, six-foot-four, muscled Quint, pushes open the suite door and steps aside to reveal a petite woman.

  The fucking world stops.

  “Hey, J, there’s someone here to see you. Says you know her.”

  Everything crashes to a halt.

  My jaw slackens, and a jackhammer pulverizes my chest.

  It can’t be.

  Standing in the entranc
e, wide-eyed and as beautiful as ever, is my world.

  Eva.

  Long, glossy dark hair. Big chocolate eyes. Still petite but hips rounder, legs lean and shapely. Her face is more angular and those plush, full lips a ruby red.

  Eva Ramirez? No fucking way. She’s dead.

  Quint shuts the door behind him, and blinking, I shake my head. The redhead and her offending hand register and I wrench her palm from my crotch. I can’t get away from her fast enough.

  Maybe I should have had that drink because sobriety is messing with me big time. I’m hallucinating, and even if this isn’t real, I just want to touch her. Talk to her.

  I stalk toward the woman, my fantasy, as if approaching a fawn in the brush. I don’t want to scare her off. She can’t vanish—not yet, if ever.

  She’s silent, unsure. Her chest heaves and her dark gaze intensifies.

  “Eva?”

  18

  Starved for our flesh

  EVA

  “Eva, is it really you?” His husky rasp electrifies me.

  I’m not ready for this despite all my mental preparation. After confronting Bianca, I went to my hotel and crashed, only to wake feeling ill and unsure of everything.

  I was stunned. Jared never left me, even if he was gone. His voice, music, and scent are memories I’ve clung to. At times, it was hard to conjure the sound of his voice or his unique smell. It’s been a long time, but he’s always with me, never far from my thoughts. Never.

  Last night, Bianca sent a text—she did try to call but I didn’t pick up—with a time and place to meet him the following day. Then I spent the better part of the evening fixated on the magazine photo, mesmerized by the man.

  Now that I’m seeing Jared in the flesh, it’s apparent the magazine photographs, magnificent as they are, failed to capture so many glorious things about this man.

  The iridescent flecks of green and gold in his powerful gaze. The raw, animalistic essence in every inch of his lean, tight body, decorated in colors and design.

  He prowls toward me, shoulder-length hair wild and swept back in its just the way it is look, brushing against his dark, scruffy jaw.

  Something feral emanates from his pores. Skintight leather pants and a simple white T-shirt hug his taut, rippled body.

  I’m unable to move my tongue. No words come out. Again, I’m speechless.

  Jared is alive.

  Alive.

  Jared is alive runs in the soundtrack blasting in my mind.

  Now only a few feet in front of me, he reaches out with a hand, and both of mine fly to my chest, splaying across my breastbone as if erecting some kind of barrier.

  He isn’t going to hurt me. My reaction isn’t fear based. It’s more out of self-preservation. What if I’ve dreamed all of this? What if he isn’t real and once I touch him, everything dissolves? Disappears and my life goes back to the bleak nothingness it has become?

  None of this feels real. And if it isn’t, I’d give anything for it to never end.

  For thirteen years, I’ve grappled with the reality of his death. Now, a little more than twenty-four hours since the plane, I’m here, in front of him.

  He’s alive.

  “Jared.” His name, my prayer, comes easily to my lips, and his long lashes flutter closed and open.

  His lips peak at the corners. “Eva.”

  Warm, strong knuckles glide across my cheekbone and I quiver. His touch…his touch is everything. We sway into the connection, and the feel of him brings a small yet complete peace.

  Someone clears their throat and the moment is broken. The woman, the one with her hand on the front of his pants when I walked in, now stands beside us.

  “Leave us.” His growl rumbles through my chest, eyes never wavering from me.

  She jumps, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Despite her shock or even dislike at his command, she doesn’t protest and scurries to a slightly ajar door to the left.

  “I have to…” Longing radiates from him and strong arms wrap around me.

  At first, I stiffen. His scent is overwhelming as is his large, muscled body. But my hesitation is fleeting and foolish, and I liquefy, melting into his embrace.

  “Fuck, you’re real.” His voice cracks and tears prick at my eyes.

  I nod, over and over again, and tears burst past the flimsy dam I’d spent all morning attempting to fortify.

  I dug deep to find the strength to wade through the theft of the years apart, the time stolen from us. The life we were destined to possess.

  In his arms, the boy I dreamed of, knew, and loved, rushes at me and I struggle to keep my head above the violent waves of all the yesterdays we had together.

  Wading through the disorder of my emotions, air heaves from my lungs. The past is a formidable beast arising from the icy depths of the sea, starved for our flesh, blood, and tears.

  “Yes, and you’re alive.” My fingers dig into his taut, defined back.

  He presses his nose into my hair, mouth moving against my temple. “I love you.”

  My knees buckle and my heart pangs, and he strengthens his grip. He’s got me, holding me tight and close to him.

  He always had the power to undo me. Reduce me to a mass of feelings I could neither deny nor make sense of. In a breath or a blink, the years are erased. I’m that teenage girl again, and tingles spark and fire across my skin, my insides alive and ablaze.

  “Eva.” He pulls away, but only to stand to his full height.

  His hand cups my face, and my girlish heart skitters, a flash of heat building low in my core.

  “How is this possible?” Adoring whiskey-colored eyes study my face. “I could look at you all day. I’m not sure if this is real. If not, I’m staying right here, like this, forever if it means I get to have you again.”

  “It’s real. We’re both real.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat. “Come.”

  Leading him by the hand, I sit on the plush, cream-colored couch, and he perches next to me, our legs touching, his fingers firmly wrapped around mine.

  Almost as if he dare not let go for fear I should disappear. I know the feeling.

  “I have to keep telling myself this is real.” Now it’s my turn to touch him, needing the tactile proof of it to calm my aching heart and tumultuous insides.

  He isn’t going anywhere. I trail the rugged terrain of his stubbled, square jawline, smooth cheeks, and down the slope of his Roman nose. I caress the curved valleys under his dark, expressive eyes and pause at the crest of his prominent brow.

  “They lied to us. Told us both the other was dead. Papi wanted us apart.”

  “Fuuckkk.” His body tenses and eyes shut for a second. “He hated me that much?”

  The sharp pain in his tone pierces my already battered heart, and all I’m able to muster is a nod. I’m ashamed and angry to think my own father could do such a thing.

  “I don’t know what to say except sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re not to blame for this. Did you know I was alive?”

  “No.” Shaking my head, I drop my hands into my lap and he grabs at one of them, securing it between both of his. “I’d never have agreed to leaving you. To making you think I’d died.”

  “Wait, you said they. Who…” Recognition flashes across his defined features, and his head whips to the door where the redhead disappeared not too long ago.

  I peer over my shoulder, following his gaze, and Bianca stands in the doorway, her expression pained. Two women are behind her, both gawking at us as if we’re in a play or movie. Entertainment.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” His words are blades of steel. Cold, sharp, and unforgiving.

  My sister blanches, her body trembling. “I can explain.” She inches toward us, uncertain if she should come closer or stay where she is. “I had no choice.”

  “No choice?” He explodes, getting to his feet like the boom of his voice. “You fucking had a choice. We all have choices.”

  “Jared.” Standing, I splay my fi
ngers on his chest, and the wild thumping of his heart vibrates into the palm of my hand. “We can easily be derailed by the betrayal and lies. Let’s deal with that later. You can talk to Bianca another time. Let’s talk now. Just the two of us.”

  Head dipping, all his attention is trained on me, and he offers a tight nod, pressing his full lips together. So many emotions are rolling off him, too many for me to process.

  All I want right now is time alone with him, and I’m grateful to see I still have some influence over him, even when he is enraged.

  “Bianca, leave.” My tone is colder than I intend but I’m raw, hurting, and nowhere close to getting past her deception.

  “Eva.” She takes another step closer. “Please let me explain. Let me talk to you both.”

  “No.” My icy glare chills her to the spot. “This isn’t about you. You don’t get a say right now. You’ve done enough.”

  “Go,” he growls. “All of you. Now.”

  Nodding, she spins on her heel, grabbing a bag from the table and ushering the two women to the front door. The blonde and redhead are fascinated, blatantly staring at us, and their scandal-mongering greed is clear to see. I can sense its ugliness around us, begging to stay.

  I’m not of this world, of rock stars and groupies—I’m not even sure if that’s what they are, but it’s plain to see Jared is only a piece of meat to them. There’s no denying their predatory desires.

  The bodyguard shuts the door behind the three, leaving just the two of us. Jared lets out a shuddering breath and sits once more.

  He tugs at my hand for me to do the same. “I can’t even…I don’t know where to start. What to ask. I’ve got so many questions.”

  “I know. I’m still reeling from it all.”

  “Where have you been? What happened?”

  “I’ve been in Barcelona. After the accident, I was in a coma for six months. They didn’t know if I would come out of it and what, if any, brain damage I would have.”

  His arm slides around my shoulder, tucking me into his warm side. All the years, the loneliness, and dark moments without him fade.