Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  So I could pretend a lot of things.

  * * *

  Pain radiated through my knuckle the second my fist impacted Killian’s attractive and surprised face.

  I didn’t know why he seemed so surprised. Sure, I’d come into the band’s beach house unannounced, but he knew Lexie body and soul. Which meant he knew about me, and he knew what I’d do for Lexie. So punching him in the face for breaking her heart was getting off easy in my book.

  His surprise turned to a grin after I was yanked into a warm body, presumably to stop me from hitting Killian again. Once was enough to make my point and also to make sure that I still had use of my hand. The idiot had an iron jaw.

  “Fuck,” Wyatt muttered against my ear as he tightened his arms around me, even though it became apparent I wasn’t going to start a brawl.

  His scent wrapped itself around me tighter than his arms. Woodsy with a faint smoky twinge, something that couldn’t be bottled. Something I’d never been close enough to have imprinted on my skin.

  Something dangerous.

  “Let me go,” I hissed at Wyatt when trying to extract myself from his arms didn’t work. I was petite and could throw a punch at a burly biker well enough, but I couldn’t struggle out of a not so burly—but still muscled as shit—rock star’s grip.

  Wyatt’s arms tightened. “Not until I’m sure you’re not gonna try and break your hand on Killian’s face,” he said.

  I knew he wasn’t Killian’s biggest fan, to put it lightly, so I knew he wasn’t worried about his face. Which only meant his concern was for me.

  And that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

  “Get some ice for her hand,” Wyatt commanded Sam, who was grinning with what could only be described as glee.

  His grip was turning from merely restraining me into something more of an embrace, the most intimate way I’d been touched before—despite all the men I’d slept with.

  I’d fucked countless dudes. But not one had actually held me.

  Mostly because I didn’t let them. It tended to give guys the wrong idea.

  I struggled some more.

  But then I focused on Killian, and the small red and inflamed patch of his cheek. I was filled with my own sense of glee. “That was for hurting my friend.”

  Lexie, who had been gaping at the whole scenario now stepped forward, her face sheepish. “Emma—”

  “Let me go,” I hissed at Wyatt, mindful of the fact this was the first time I’d seen Lexie in the flesh in months. And in those months she’d gone through the death of a boyfriend, a robbery, and a botched kidnapping attempt from some crazed stalker. My worry, my terror that something would happen to her hit me suddenly. I needed to hug her, to make sure that one of the only people in the world who actually gave a shit about me was still here. I craned my head to glare at Wyatt. “I’m not likely to hit my best friend.”

  Wyatt waited a beat, and despite myself, I found myself happy that he did so I could hold onto the strange moment for a second longer. Then he let me go. The cold absence of his touch was a physical thing.

  “You’re back together?” I pointed between Lexie and Killian.

  I wanted to hug her, but I was also pretty pissed that the reunion of the century didn’t warrant a freaking phone call. And I would’ve worried a fuck of a lot less if I knew Killian was here. I may have hated him for hurting my best friend, but I also knew he’d die protecting her. Then again, so would Noah, Wyatt, and Sam.

  “I was going to tell you,” Lexie said softly, glancing from Killian to me.

  I didn’t miss the way her eyes softened when they landed on him, the way her body relaxed. Nor did I miss the pure hunger in Killian’s gaze. Like he was starving in front of a feast.

  It would’ve looked totally lame on any other man. But Killian had only gotten darker, broodier and just all over hotter in four years.

  Lexie didn’t stand a chance.

  Though, by the way he was looking at her, he didn’t stand a chance. And he seemed pretty fucking happy about that. At least Killian’s version of happy.

  “When?” I demanded. “After the wedding? I found out from fucking TMZ, Lex. You know how shit that is? Letting a trashy TV show fill me in on my best friend’s love life?”

  I tried as hard as I could to keep the hurt from my voice. Because it wasn’t really Lexie’s fault that I was traveling the world while she was going through all of...this. My anger came from a place of guilt, for not being there for her more. For being too hungry to fulfill my own selfish desires I wasn’t around when my best friend needed me.

  She bit her lip. “I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you.”

  “I’ll tell you how it goes,” I said. “You pick up the phone and say ’Hey, Em, just to let you know, I’m back with the broody biker who broke my heart and we’re going to have beautiful babies who will grow up to be supermodels and mini badasses,” I snapped, unable to soften myself. I wasn’t sure I was capable of being soft. Plus, I was mindful of Wyatt’s continued gaze and the fact that it was doing things to me that it had never done.

  I needed something tangible to hold onto. To hide behind. Anger always served me well.

  Lexie’s face changed. “I’m not sure if that means you’re happy or annoyed about this.”

  “Of course I’m happy,” I yelled. I glared at Killian. “I will have to cancel the hit I’ve had out on you.” It wasn’t exactly a hit, but I had met some questionable Russians with a lot of money on my last assignment and they were so happy with the art I sourced them, they gave me a ‘marker’ as well as a huge bonus. A marker I’d mentioned calling in on a certain biker. “But other than that, it was about fucking time.”

  Sam returned with frozen peas, reminding me that my hand felt like I’d punched a brick wall. I snatched the peas. Stupid bikers and their hard heads.

  “About time?” Lexie repeated.

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course. You two are meant to be together, any idiot knows that.”

  I wasn’t lying. Every time Wyatt had called with an update, I held my breath, hoping he might’ve said that Killian finally pulled his head out of his ass and came back to rescue Lexie from the wasteland she was in.

  I surely thought it would’ve happened when she started dating that asshole actor a few months ago. Wyatt had thought so too. He didn’t tell me in as many words, but from our phone conversations over the years, we’d learned to pick up more from what the other person didn’t say than what they did.

  Killian was grinning at me. Well, his version of a grin, which was a slight twitch at the corner of his lip. He yanked Lexie into his body, laying his lips on her neck like he couldn’t go any longer without touching her. Without feasting.

  They shouldn’t have fit. The tiny blonde hippy rock star and the menacing biker covered in tattoos.

  But they did.

  My empty life nudged me with the brutal reminder of the fact I’d never had that. I had the strangest desperation to have Wyatt’s arms back around me.

  “Oh stop before my womb explodes,” I said instead of doing anything stupid like turning around and nuzzling Wyatt’s neck.

  Lexie grinned and it hit me in the chest. Because it was real, not empty and fucking hopeless like her smiles the past four years had been. She had everything most of society added up to equal happiness—money, fame, talent, beautiful skin, a stupid fast metabolism, friends and a good family.

  But that all meant shit when you were missing half of you. When your bank balance was bursting, it meant nothing if your soul was empty.

  I forgave Killian in that moment.

  Lexie moved forward to hug me and I let myself be reminded that my friend was happy, healthy, and unharmed. That was enough to fill my soul.

  “I’ve missed you, Em,” she whispered.

  I squeezed her hard, realizing how fucking lonely I’d been without her. “Missed you more, Lee.”

  I wasn’t a touchy-feely person. I’d never be one of those girls that hu
gged her friend when she hadn’t seen her since the day before, wouldn’t hold hands with a guy...ever. And I was strictly against any kind of post-sex cuddling. Maybe it was because I wasn’t hugged enough—or at all—as a kid and I didn’t know how to receive affection, let alone give it.

  Lexie and Mia were the exception to that rule. Because they were touchy-feely. And I didn’t find myself shrinking away from the contact, I leaned into it.

  Lexie leaned out. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got a Vanity Fair shoot I’m already late to,” she said sighing, as if it were a fucking gyno appointment.

  I was so proud of her.

  “Of course you do,” I replied, waving my hand. “I’m on my way to a Sports Illustrated shoot. I’m just here to give Killian a taste of what he’ll get if he fucks up again.” I narrowed my eyes at him in warning. Not that he needed it.

  “Want to come?” Lexie asked, grinning. “You can hit on the photographer. I hear he’s dreamy.”

  Usually I’d jump at the chance to hit on a dreamy photographer and eat all the free food they give out at those shoots—the models never ate anyway, and despite my new and healthy financial position, I was always in the mindset of poverty—but something stopped me.

  More accurately, the thought of someone. The someone who hadn’t ventured far from my person since I’d arrived and started swinging and who was looking between my pea covered hand to me.

  Killian growled at Lexie’s words. “I’m definitely fuckin’ coming.”

  Ugh. Alpha males.

  Wyatt glared. “She doesn’t want to get caught up in the craziness of the paps,” he said. He glanced to me. “She can chill here, get her hand looked at.”

  All fondness I had for the man disappeared. “She can speak for herself,” I snapped. “No matter how famous or hot you are, you don’t get to do that. Ever.”

  Fuck.

  I’d just called him hot.

  It wasn’t like it wasn’t glaringly obvious.

  Plus, my fury-soaked voice might’ve cloaked any residual affection.

  “Wyatt’s glare stayed in place. “Try and go,” he clipped. “See what happens.”

  I was surprised steam didn’t start coming out of my ears at this point. He was insinuating, for some insane reason, that he would stop me from going.

  No one stopped me from doing anything. Not my parents, not everyone who’d told me I needed a college education to get where I was, and certainly not Wyatt fucking Summers.

  I was debating whether it was worth injuring my other hand when Sam stepped in. “Down, kitties,” he said softly, slinging his arms around each of us and yanking us into his body. “Before Uncle Sam has to put his foot down and spank you both.” Sam waggled his eyebrows at me.

  Wyatt continued to glare.

  Lexie giggled.

  And for another second, I forgot my fury. Because it was pure, organic. Real. That happiness. Something I’d realized I hadn’t felt since the last time I was with them. No, I hadn’t felt that from Lexie since that day she was arguing about boots with her mom. Before the mansions, Vanity Fair shoots, and Grammys.

  Sam glanced at her, lightness in his eyes. “You go, I got this.”

  He said it like he, of all people, had some sort of ability to keep the peace or play any kind of role that required responsibility. Sam was a hot mess, but he worked it, and his heart was big enough that he pulled it off.

  “Dinner tonight?” Lexie suggested.

  I nodded, thinking about everything she needed to fill me in on, and everything I needed to forget about. Namely, Wyatt’s arms around me. “And cocktails. Lots of them.”

  And then she was gone, with Killian in tow.

  I had a feeling he was not going to let her stray far from his side for the near future, definitely not out of touching distance.

  And despite the hatred I’d harbored for him the past four years, I liked that.

  I let that warm feeling mellow me for a second.

  Then I yanked out of Sam’s arms and whirled on Wyatt.

  “What the fuck was that?” I hissed. “You think it’s okay to tell Lexie where I won’t be going?”

  He moved forward to snatch the peas from my hand to hold it in his own. Cradle my fucking swollen hand like it was precious. Like I was precious.

  “Don’t think it’s broken,” he murmured.

  I snatched my hand back. “Oh, why thank you, Dr. Dickbrain. I think the only thing broken here is your head.”

  He glowered at me. “You don’t want to be at some stupid fucking shoot, not when your hand is hurting like fuck, though you’d rather walk on hot coals than admit it.”

  “I do want to be at some stupid fucking shoot,” I countered, not addressing the hot coals part since he was totally right. “I want to be anywhere where my best friend—who I haven’t seen in months—is. Plus, a hot photographer is a bonus.”

  Wyatt’s jaw ticked in unfamiliar anger. “You’re not fuckin’ a photographer.”

  “Since when do you get a say in who I do or don’t fuck?” I asked, voice closer to a screech than I wanted. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never cared before, and if I even tried to have an opinion on every girl who rode you, I’d never have time to do things like eat and brush my hair.”

  Sam choked out a laugh.

  “Could it just be that I’ve missed you yelling at me insulting me and that I wanted to spend some quality time with you?” Wyatt asked, grinning.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.” Something glinted in his eyes.

  Something that hit me south of my stomach.

  The moment hung between us for a long time, before Sam, bless him, broke it.

  “Who wants to go and buy a Ferrari with me?” he asked. “I’m bored.”

  I blinked. “You’re bored, so you’re buying a Ferrari?” I repeated.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I’m a rock star, it’s what we do.”

  Yeah, it’s what they did.

  Bought Ferraris. Fucked groupies. Left broken hearts in their wake. Something I needed to remember.

  Chapter Three

  “Dude, are you seriously hiding a joint from me?” I asked, grinning at the sheepish face that was expanded as he tried to hold in the smoke. “I’m not your fucking mother.”

  He let the smoke trail out, coughing as he did so. Such a thing should’ve been unattractive. But Wyatt could not be unattractive if he tried.

  It was infuriating.

  I was not known for my impulse control when it came to men—in fact, I was by society’s definition, kind of a slut. If I found a man attractive, I didn’t mess around with pretenses, I made the first move. The first move usually being my tongue in his mouth. The last move being me sneaking out of his bedroom once he’d fallen asleep.

  I never brought men home to my place.

  Not the place that it had taken my blood, sweat, and tears to make my own. My beautiful apartment that I never dreamed I’d have, but also what I’d been determined to give myself since the second I was old enough to comprehend what a shitty situation I was in.

  For as long as I could remember, my home was never safe. It was a living thing, stroking me with outstretched claws, just to remind me that it could tear through my skin at any freaking moment.

  The phrase ‘as safe as houses’ was about as real as fucking Hogwarts to me.

  I tore myself out of that hell house the second I could, worked my ass off, through near poverty, through countless packets of instant noodles, of past due notices, of refusing all of Lexie’s offers for money as she became a rock star.

  I didn’t take the money for the same reason I didn’t tell anyone about how bad it really was for me at home. Because I didn’t want to pollute their good lives with my own misfortune. And because I was terrified if I became too much of a bother, if my reality became too ugly, too inconvenient, that they might just leave me.

  And because I was determined to make it on my own. If only for the reason that my p
arents told me I never would.

  And I did.

  I would never have millions of dollars like my uber famous bestie, nor would I own a beach house in Malibu, like the one I was catching Wyatt smoking a joint on the porch of, but I owned my apartment in Calabasas, with a comparable mortgage rate. I earned enough money to keep my pantry full—something I made sure of since a lot of childhood was scrounging for scraps when my parents forgot to feed me, or purposefully didn’t if they were feeling particularly cruel.

  My apartment was my own. I didn’t let men into it for the same reason I didn’t let them into my life. The more people you let in, the more that could hurt you. I’m sure some shrink would love to explore that barrel of issues, but it was how I’d lived my life thus far, and it was working.

  Hence me not being able to find Wyatt attractive. Self-preservation and all that.

  I pretended I wasn’t having strange feelings every time I saw him, feelings that only seemed to intensify as we grew up, as our lives grew apart. Feelings that had me thinking about taking him home. To my bed.

  It wasn’t love or anything fucking stupid like that. Just want. Because he was hot. And only hotter now that he’d added tattoos and muscles as he grew. As some kind of hardness covered the features that had been once soft in boyhood. The life was taking its toll on him. But unlike with others, who would slowly be ruined by this, it was making him.

  Like he was born to be a rock star.

  He stopped coughing and digested my words, looking me up and down in a way that did nothing for the attraction I had toward him. No, it didn’t do nothing. It ramped it up about one thousand percent.

  “No, you are definitely not my mother,” he drawled.

  Fuck.

  I leaned forward and snatched the joint off him. “Don’t leer at me like that, I’m not one of your groupies,” I snapped, taking an inhale. I sucked in the taste of my childhood and let the feeling of unease and relaxation settle over me. I wasn’t much of a smoker, but I didn’t ‘just say no.’ I sometimes said yes. And I really needed something to dull the edges right now.