“Listen, Jed, um, did Mom talk to you about my wedding?” Mel asked in a hesitant voice.
“Mom? No. What about the wedding? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, not exactly. Don’t freak out on me, Jed, especially after the fight you just had with Buddy, but…. Mom’s okay with it, and I really want….”
“What?”
“Buddy to walk me down the aisle,” Melanie said in a fast breath. “You know I was only a dumb teenager at my first wedding when I eloped in Vegas. But this time with Gabe, I hope to do it right. The girls are so excited, and we’re going all-out on a traditional ceremony at the ranch. Buddy’s already promised to come, and I thought—I want—he’s our dad, Jed. I want him to walk me. Please, please don’t be mad. I know. You deserve to walk me more than he does, but he’s coming, and I think he’ll come through. It’s my wedding, for goodness sake. What could he do instead?”
Jed could think of a million answers. Buddy was all about Buddy, which made the possibilities endless, but the note of pure hope in Melanie’s voice stopped Jed’s objections.
During her wild high school days, she didn’t listen to anybody, much less a too-serious younger brother. She drank. Smoked. Looked for love from guys who treated her like pure crap. Melanie’s worst mistake was marrying one of them. Getting divorced a few years later finally made her change. Still, it was hard for a long time. With two young daughters and no college degree, Melanie was a young single mother, bringing home a small paycheck. Jed did what he could, financially and emotionally, but at the end of the day, Melanie deserved the credit.
“I need to chance this with Buddy. If I get hurt, then I get hurt. I’m a big girl. As much as you want to, you can’t keep me in Bubble Wrap.”
“I don’t try to do that.”
“Don’t you? Just focus on the wedding and not Dad. The girls and I adore you, and you’re a big part of my day. Please understand.”
“Mom doesn’t care if Buddy comes to the wedding? Comes here to the ranch? Walks you down the aisle?” Jed persisted, trying a new tactic. Maybe their mom would be able to talk some sense into Melanie.
“She says if it makes me happy, then it’s okay with her. She’s into karma these days and figures the universe will do enough to him.”
Their mom hated to look at anything unpleasant; she always had. Despite Jed being younger than Melanie, he was the person Mom confided in whenever things went wrong. Jed was the fixer of the family. Being a good brother and son had made him the man of the house at a young age.
“Plus, she’s happy with her life. She’s bringing Bob. You could bring a date too.”
“Not interested.”
“Oh, come on. There are so many guys who’d love to date you.”
“Because Diamond Creek is so overrun with options?”
“You can leave town once in a while, dummy. Or join a dating site,” Melanie chided.
“A dating site? Hell no.”
“Nobody’s forcing you to never leave the ranch. It’s just that… you’re so alone out there.”
“I like the ranch and being alone here. Don’t manage me. All right? You got enough on your plate… with Buddy walking you down the aisle.”
“Then you understand? Thank you, Jed! I know you have issues with him and for good reasons, but I just want to marry in a traditional ceremony with my family—my whole family—there. The girls will be so excited!”
“How are the girls? Are they warming up to Gabe being their stepdad?”
“Yes, they really do like him now, once they accepted us. And the girls are great. Well, Emma failed a spelling test. She took that pretty hard. You know how she can be. Her own worst enemy when she doesn’t do well.”
“Poor kid.” Jed frowned. His niece was extremely smart, not that he was biased or anything. But Emma had been diagnosed two years ago with dyslexia. That was the main reason Melanie moved to a city, so Emma could get better programs that specialized in learning issues.
“She went into the bathroom in tears over it. And Hope felt bad for her. She tried to cook macaroni and cheese, Em’s favorite, to cheer her. It ended up all goopy and sticking to my best pot, and we all went out to Cheesecake Factory instead….”
“Aw, I miss them.”
“They miss you. They ask for Uncle Jed all the time. Uncle Jed this, Uncle Jed that—you fall between Santa and summer break in their book of beloved things.”
“I’ve no idea why.”
“Really? Maybe because you play with them like crazy when you have them?”
“Only because I have to.” But he smiled a soft, secret smile. Jed took his nieces for two weeks every summer to give Melanie a break. His nieces always made him happy inside, and he wasn’t a man who smiled easily.
“If I didn’t entertain them,” Jed told her, “they’d whine of boredom.”
“Right, they whine too much.”
“More than my horses.”
Melanie chuckled. “You bitch and complain, yet you ask for them every summer.”
As usual, Jed spent the next ten minutes listening to his sister chatter away. Melanie didn’t mind that Jed wasn’t a person for small talk.
No way in hell he’d risk Buddy crushing his sister on her special day. He and Melanie had been rushing to each other’s side since they were kids. It was what they did. Now that Melanie was finally in a good place in her life, Jed wanted to keep it that way.
As soon as he ended the call with his sister, Jed dialed Buddy’s number.
“Jed? Hello?” Buddy answered his phone. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again today.”
“I’ll do it,” Jed said. “Host the pop star here at the ranch. With some conditions.”
“What?” Buddy said cautiously.
Jed leaned forward on his desk. “How much do you care about Remy Sean? Your number one client? It’s gotta be a lot.”
More than you ever cared for Melanie. Or me.
“Whatever you’re about to ask of me,” Buddy said, “just remember half the land is mine. Split between me and your mom. I was asking to be nice. But I can have whoever the hell I want there.”
“And I can call the newspapers and go on Instagram.” Not that Jed actually knew jack shit about Instagram, except for the name, but Hayley or his nieces could help him.
There was silence, and then Buddy groaned. “What do you want?”
“I want you to sign over the land to me. I’ll pay you for it, every damn bit, but I want it.”
“I figured as much.” Buddy hesitated only a minute. “Done.”
“That’s not all. I want you to say yes when Melanie calls and asks you to walk her down the aisle.”
“When she does what? She’s gonna ask me to walk her down the aisle? That’s great! Of course, I’ll be there to—”
“And keep your promise,” Jed interrupted Buddy’s gushing. “You’re good at the first part—saying yes. You suck, Buddy, at keeping your word. I want it in writing. That you’ll attend and walk her down that aisle no matter what else is going on with Remy Sean or any other fucking client. You’ll show up.”
“You trust me that little?”
“I know you that well.”
“I would’ve done it anyhow.”
“Then it’s no big deal to make it an official agreement.”
“It makes me sad, son, that you have to ask.”
Jed steeled his heart. Buddy, like all good con artists, was great at manipulating emotions. His word was nothing. Jed wanted it in writing.
WHEN he ended the phone call, Jed absently glanced around the room, but the feeling of victory refused to come. Hagrid lay quietly at Jed’s feet, face resting on his paws. His dog filled up the empty space, thank God.
Not that Jed needed anybody else.
He was just fine.
Crap. He never even asked when Remy Sean was arriving. For all he knew, the pop star might show up on his doorstep tonight. Jed stood and hurried to get the keys to his aging truck. At
least his truck was cleaner than Elliot’s, if a little beat-up on the outside. He’d have to go to town, buy some food. What did a famous star eat, anyway?
“I’m only concerned because if he starves, my deal is off,” Jed told Hagrid. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going shopping to be nice.”
Hagrid barked sharply in reply.
“Stop woofing, pal, if you want a rawhide.”
Hagrid went silent and trotted after Jed as he gathered his things. He checked his fridge for food and composed a quick shopping list.
Jed barely recalled Remy. His mind scrambled to recollect the summer they’d met, but all he came up with was a skinny blond boy who knew jack shit about the ranch and who turned out to be the great talent that took Buddy far away. Not that he’d blamed Remy. Well, not much.
Town was a long ride down the mountain on a pretty bumpy road. As he drove, Jed decided he would stock up on good meat, locally brewed beers, some shrimp, garlic bread, Doritos, and chocolate cake. He had no idea what the hell Remy ate, but those were Jed’s favorites, and he might need extra comfort if he had to put up with some pop princess for a month.
“Maybe I’ll call him that. Princess.” He laughed, then realized Hagrid was at home and he was talking to himself.
Chapter Two
TIME to go.
Remy’s fingers were numb. Nothing was wrong with him, not physically; all the doctors agreed. But he was a fucking wreck. Ever since that night in Athens over four months ago, Remy had tried to ignore it. The racing heart, the loss of feeling in his fingers, and the constant churning dread. Anxiety. That was what the doctors decided. Stress-induced anxiety. Tell that to his fucking lungs that constricted with every breath. And the shrinks didn’t help. Remy needed to get ahead of it all, somehow. Just get ahead of it, calm the fuck down, get it together. Then he’d pick up where he was before.
He studied his home while he waited for the limo. It was on a sizable property, a true McMansion on the shores of Malibu, where he owned three acres of prime beachfront. The property boasted an infinity pool, tennis court, and garage full of vintage cars. It had seven bedrooms, each with a private bathroom, and a game room that had pool tables, pinball, and a giant theater area. Being too busy staying at the top of the charts, Remy had never spent more than a handful of days inside it—until now.
He’d bought the mansion sight unseen, signing the papers on a whim, a fantasy of being barefoot on the beach. In reality, onstage he wore boots that pinched his toes, and he couldn’t recall the last time he actually swam in the ocean. Most of his free time had been spent amid the mansions of Los Angeles, where the young and beautiful sipped martinis around immaculate pools, comparing selfies and counting calories while ignoring the sea only steps away. And everyone there wanted to fuck him because he was a star.
Didn’t matter. None of it did. Not the gossiping parties with spray-tanned models eager to screw him, not the grueling hours, the bad road food, jealous bandmates, and social media crap. None of that mattered if he had his music; he could take anything. He used to be able to jam all night. Hell, the songs used to pour out of him. Too bad the music was betraying him. He was frozen, so fucking dead inside.
What if the music never returns?
Remy ignored the cold sweat on his back. His fans thought he tossed songs together in mere hours. If they had any idea how Remy agonized over every chord he wrote, how he struggled to find the right vibe for his stage appearances, how every post was checked first…. While he always loved being on stage, Remy hated the hours before a show. He needed it to be perfect. And now? Perfection was a joke.
A plaintive meow interrupted his thoughts.
Oscar wasn’t used to cages. Remy had always let his cat roam free on the tour bus. But Buddy had arranged a private jet. Since Remy didn’t know whose jet he was borrowing, he thought it rude to let Oscar leave his fur all over the seats.
The limo pulled up to his large circular driveway. Frank, his driver, nodded to him as he loaded Remy’s belongings into the trunk. Remy gave a stiff nod back. How much did Frank know? Did Buddy tell him where they were going? The Coke that Remy drank for breakfast churned in his stomach, and he slid his sunglasses on.
“Isn’t it a fabulous day, Frank? Love this weather, even if it’s a little hot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have such an amazing tan. What sunscreen do you use? I live for my sunscreen information. Gotta take care of the skin, right?” Remy laughed nervously. “Moisturizers and sunscreens.” His stomach took another low dip.
“I suppose so, sir.” Frank might be tanned, but his comb-over and crooked front tooth indicated that beauty products might not be in his morning routine.
Frank opened the door, and Remy, feeling foolish, scurried inside, away from the relentless LA sun and into the welcome frigid air of the limo. Sunscreen? Why was he babbling to his driver about sunscreen?
“So? What now?” Remy asked Buddy in greeting. He plopped into an oversized seat and put his feet on the one in front of him. Did his slacker pose appear convincing? Hopefully, he could fake it with Buddy better than he’d done with Frank. “Has the press gotten a hint I’m leaving town?”
Remy didn’t even know his destination, but he trusted Buddy because Buddy had been with him since he was a stupid kid.
And now you’re a stupid adult.
Remy blinked. The ugly voice he was running from came into his brain so easily. All his adoring fans, all his platinum songs, and none of it stopped that voice. Since Athens, it had gotten louder.
Buddy finished whatever he was texting—he looked at his electronics as another limb—and then answered. “Lisa took care of it.”
“Cool.” Lisa was Remy’s PR expert. Remy could only dream of being as tough as Lisa. With her freckled face void of makeup and her love of gingham dresses, combined with her equal love of money and her killer instincts, Lisa was like Laura Ingalls on steroids. Remy never actually hired Lisa. At her interview, she informed him that she was hired. Lisa was a pro at spinning stories. Not to mention she made an unholy eggnog at their Christmas parties. “If Lisa is taking care of this, maybe I don’t need to hide out?”
“Lisa’s great. But she can only hold off the press for so long. It’s been weeks since you did any sort of PR. Your life belongs to them and is up for grabs in many ways. Your fans can’t get enough of you. They try and follow you when you take a piss. They go after anybody who they think betrays you. Remember the Rolling Stone article?”
Remy nodded. When Rolling Stone didn’t name him Sexiest Pop Star of the Decade—he was in the top five—his fans went berserk, tweeting their outrage, boycotting the magazine, saying ugly, personal crap about the writer of the piece, making Remy’s stomach twist.
“It bothers the shit outa me when they do it.”
“I know,” Buddy soothed him. “What happened on tour disturbed you, but this is the reality you live in as a huge pop sensation. And this is what we always planned, isn’t it? For you to be huge. If they think that you need them, that you’re hurting and afraid—”
“They love me, for now. I’m as good as my next song.” The trouble was the next song was not coming. Nothing was coming these days. Buddy was as frustrated as Remy over his stage anxiety, which only made him feel worse, to be letting Buddy down.
The fans were demanding, but they always had been. It was Remy who had changed. In the past, flanked by his bodyguards, he had always stopped to make time for the gaggle of fans who attended every event, but the last time Remy had been out in public, attempting to be his old self, he’d hidden his eyes behind sunglasses and tried not to cringe. He never should have given so much. He should have set more boundaries. Already he woke to massive numbers of messages on social media asking when the next song was going to be released. When, when, when? It felt toxic.
“They will always love you, pal. Stop talking that way. I’m telling ya, a rest is all you need. Recharge. Regroup before giving some concerts
. Trust me, this will work.”
“It has to work. People are counting on me. You, Lisa, the band, the crew, so many people….”
Buddy didn’t deny it, and Remy gazed out the window a moment and drew a long breath. They drove by palm trees and Spanish-style mansions, many as empty as Remy’s, a shopping mecca that resembled a fake Tuscany village, and a private golf course, all before Frank turned onto the highway to the airport. The car ate up the miles. How many miles had he traveled? How many countries? And all those places, had he really seen them or just their hotels and concert halls?
Buddy returned to multitasking on his phone. Taking care of business. Taking care of him.
“Sorry, Buddy. You’re counting on me too. And I… I appreciate… hell, everything.”
Buddy didn’t look up from his phone as he answered, “Sure thing. You’re my guy, Remy. You know that.”
“I feel like a block of ice, empty since—”
“Hold on a sec.” Buddy furiously texted something as Remy waited, then put the phone in his lap. He gave Remy an easy smile. “You’ll perform again. It’s a minor delay, right? And I called the people at Dove. They agreed to wait. Oh, and be sure to mention Dove any chance you get. Say you used it for years. But they’re fine with the plan—no worries. Everybody thinks you’re worth waiting on.”
“Thanks.” Dove had asked Remy to be their first male spokesman. They were designing a whole host of beauty products around him for next spring. Their rep couldn’t get over Remy’s olive skin and light hair color, a genetic jackpot combination from his Swedish father and Italian mother. The rep had also hoped to take Remy out dancing and maybe share his supply of quaaludes, but Remy wasn’t into that shit. Not anymore.
“Do you want me to call Nicky? He left a few messages for you.”
“What? No. I have zero need for Nicky.”
“Maybe he’s worried for you? He sounded sincere in his messages.”
“Nicky doesn’t understand the meaning of the word sincere. He’s in the past. For good reason.”
It still stung that the only person Remy had ever been in a real relationship with had used him to elevate his own star status, then dumped him… on Twitter, for fuck’s sake. After Athens, he’d called Nicky out of desperation for a friend. He wasn’t looking to get back with him, just to talk. Nicky had been too busy. Then he’d done an interview with Good Morning America, rehashing their relationship in detail and how he felt bad for Remy. The good part was that Nicky’s tell-all interview had taken the focus off Athens for the fans. They mainly wanted more intimate details about them. Sex details, which Nicky was only too happy to blab about.
Rocking the Cowboy Page 2