“Can we sit?” She’s already moving to the loveseat. Luke leans against the wall behind her, arms crossed, gaze warning me that he’s not as easily impressed.
“I wanted to meet with you alone,” Holland begins. “No lawyers, no labels. Just us.”
I lower myself beside Hannah. Far enough away that we could be just friends. Close enough that she could change that impression.
“About the Mila thing?”
“About everything. I hate the way things are. Where they’re going.”
Her blue eyes hold compassion. Even her pissed-face isn’t very convincing and had lasted all of ten seconds just now. Luke once gave me permission to fuck him up if he ever hurt her. Dude’s brave to take the risk. I’ll give him that.
“I heard about you hiring Sylvie’s boyfriend,” I say. Another sip of water because what do I care?
She tosses Luke a glance for support. Maybe I’m cool with how he squeezes her shoulder, how she reaches up and laces her fingers with his. Guess their connection is sort-of natural for them.
“I didn’t want you to find out that way.”
“No? What was the better way to tell me you replaced me?” My voice is even. After all, it’s done. I’m just curious at this point. I wish Holland didn’t seem in pain about it.
“We weren’t intending to replace you. We just needed someone for our shows until we worked everything out.” She quiets, gaze shifting to the floor. “And since we didn’t…”
“But we did, Hol.” She flinches, and I try to give her as much sincerity as a guy like me can muster in situations like this. “We did work it out.”
The declaration hangs between us, heavy in its finality. This is news to her. My acceptance. She doesn’t seem to know what to do with that.
“What’s next for you then?” she asks instead.
I stretch my arm across the back of the couch. “I don’t know. I’m thinking real estate license?”
Hannah swats me on behalf of her sister, and I grin.
“Seriously, Wes. What are you going to do?” Her expression is all concern for the man who’s made her life miserable.
“I don’t know.” Let you go.
“He’s going to finish writing ‘Viper Rising’ with me,” Hannah announces. She shifts closer and pulls my arm around her shoulders. Air siphons from the room as it absorbs Hannah’s demonstration, waits for Holland’s reaction. Even Luke’s frown tenses.
Holland stares. Then she takes a long swallow of water. “Can we hear what you have so far?”
“Um, sure.”
I squeeze her knee as I push myself up. “I’ll get my guitar.”
Eyes press into my back on the journey to my Martin. I remove it from the case with extra care.
“You ready?” I ask Hannah. It’s everything I can do not to put my guitar down and draw her against me at the look on her face. So much hope. So much fear. This moment began long before now. It’s eternal for her. Maybe for me too if my future is truly being rewritten.
I start to play. In E. Because I believe Hannah Drake can hit that bridge like a fucking fiend.
∞∞∞
There are too many types of silence. I’ve never been great with any of them, but the ones saturated with emotion are the worst. They drip and ooze and fill a guy’s chest with a mass of sentiment better left untouched. This one though. God, it’s painful against my ribs as tears cloud hypnotic blue irises and trickle down soft cheeks. When the shoulders of two sisters lock against each other, I need a distracting inspection of a scratch on my guitar. Luke watches from his perch, hard set of his jaw loosening slightly.
“I can’t even tell you,” Holland whispers. “That was… Hannah!”
Hannah doesn’t respond with words. She has a solid grip on her sister’s back, face mercifully hidden from me. How did I get that scratch again? Oh right, I have no idea because there’s a dozen on this piece of wood I carry around.
“Those are your words, aren’t they?” Holland again. She knows her sister’s story better than anyone. Better than I do no matter how much I like to act otherwise.
“Wes wrote the music.”
“Great tune, man.” Luke.
We all stare. His arms are still crossed, eyes still daring me to try something, but Luke Craven was not being sarcastic. He genuinely likes our song.
“Thanks.”
“Might want to think about adding a second turn after the bridge. Maybe the same as the early one but with the 6 instead.”
Luke Craven is now giving me, Wes Alton, songwriting input. Bathroom combatants to cowriters. This Twilight Zone, I’m telling you. I can’t look at Holland. I’m positive her face will make me do something stupid like take his advice. Damn, it’s good advice.
“Yeah? We’ll try it out later,” I say. Meanwhile, my brain is already playing through the progression and imagining a killer drop after the bridge followed by an epic build—on the 6. Shit. It’s fantastic advice.
“We’re going to perform it at Sophia’s wedding,” Hannah says.
This news is clearly a harder pill for Holland. Her gaze passes between the two of us, and I can almost see the headlines forming in her brain. It’s one thing to be couch buddies with her sister. Public performers?
“Wow.” Her gaze settles on me. “Your father is okay with this?”
“Ha, no way,” I scoff. “He doesn’t know. Limelight is booked to play.”
“Really?” Luke’s stance tenses again. Ah, that’s right. Jesse and Luke are besties as well. Damn, I’m never going to get rid of this guy.
“Yeah. Jesse’s a lifesaver.”
“Jesse’s in a shitload of his own trouble. Didn’t he tell you that?”
Holland shoots Luke a warning glance, and he shrugs.
“Just that it involved Mila Taylor,” I say.
Luke grunts. “That’s an understatement.”
“Okay, we’re not here to talk about Jesse either,” Holland interrupts.
“Why are we here, Hol?” I’m not trying to be a dick, but right now we’re wasting some seriously valuable talent on small talk.
“I told you. To patch things up.”
“They’re patched though, right?” Me again, sounding like a jerk.
Luke agrees and shoots daggers across the room.
I swallow and focus back on Holland. Even lean forward for extra sincerity. “Holland, I’m serious. No hard feelings. I get why you wanted the contract. I get why you hired this Shandor dude. I get it, okay? I’m not upset. All I ask is that you try to understand why I have to walk away.”
“From our friendship, too?”
“Only if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
We exchange a smile. She fidgets with a folder, and I sigh. “Ah. You also brought the contract.”
She seems nervous and I can’t really blame her. “I was hoping maybe you’d change your mind today.” The folder stops in midair between us. “You’re sure. Absolutely sure you want out for good?”
No. Pressure floods my knee, and I glance down to find painted black nails sinking in.
“I’m sure.” I reach out and take the documents. “It’s better for both of us.”
Luke Craven actually shakes my hand when they leave.
20: DENIAL
The silence echoes through my foyer when they leave. Phantom screams about finality and regret. I’m not wired for this shit. When you rule your universe there’s no standard for reactive beginnings. No, life is a map and you fucking plot your course and own it.
Now my life’s map is just a stack of lawyer jargon.
“Wes?”
I’d almost forgotten about Hannah. She studies me from the vacuum of her sister’s absence by the door, strands of dark hair wisping around her face as they slip from the pile on her head. Only Hannah could wear imperfection so perfectly. Her eyes are heavy with sadness, for me, for her, for all of humanity because that’s what she does—takes on the burden of universal
existence. Depression, man. I’ve never wanted to kick anything’s ass so hard in my life.
“Come here,” I say, arm extended. She slides into my embrace, and I lock it around her. Fresh, clean, floral vapors wind through my head as I bury my lips in her hair. “We got this, Han.”
She burrows into me, fists clenched on the back of my shirt. Damn, if that doesn’t make you want to stand in front of a freight train for a person.
My fingers slide over her neck, trace the outline of the skin beneath her collar. So soft, so delicate, so the opposite of everything I love about this woman. Love?
Shit.
I breathe in more of her, closing my eyes to absorb her scent, the power it has over me. I don’t just want to protect her. I want… what? Forgiveness? Redemption? Or maybe pain because that’s what it is to love a Drake. Sweet, cleansing pain that inflames vipers and saturates leeches.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she murmurs against my heart. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. I don’t remember other women ever triggering this click track that reverberates through my body.
My hand travels farther down her back. Thud-two-three-four. Blood pools in a punch between my legs. I need her to recoil, but she dissolves into heat instead.
Her grip tightens on my shirt, lifting the hem to invite cool air on my back. It does nothing to tame the raging inferno. She tugs the shirt over my head, hair falling into my eyes. It’s her job to smooth it back as she grasps my face with a jerk toward her. I take her mouth, let that internal metronome beat my tongue to hers. My prey writhes with each shove of my hips. I want her to gasp, beg for more of my venom.
I lower her jeans and strike, loving how her thighs tense with each bite toward my goal—thud—thud—thud—thud. Her entire body flexes into my pursuit and…
I need you to be my viper.
Blood thunders through every artery, but it’s not lust that it fuels now. It’s fear, terror, for this soul I want to protect beyond all reason. Hannah is not my prey; she’s my responsibility because fuck if I don’t love this woman. Fuck if her pain doesn’t make mine irrelevant. No, I’m getting my shit together because this ends now.
Hannah Drake will shine.
“What’s wrong?” she asks when I lean back and pull her jeans up her legs.
I grin. “Absolutely nothing.”
Her eyebrows crease in skepticism. “Really.”
I soften the pressure of my hold and clasp my hands loosely behind her back. “You want to practice our song?” Instead of sex? She doesn’t have to say it. I read the confusion just fine.
My veins pulsate. I ache for her when she loops her fingers in my pockets to pull me back—thud—thu-ud. Smooth palms surge up my chest, across my pecs. Fingertips sink into the ridges of my biceps.
And I step back.
Reach for her hand.
Interlace our fingers in the gap between us.
Yep, it’s damn well possible I love Hannah Drake enough to suffer the thud when it’s not what she needs.
“Do you still play keys?”
∞∞∞
Beauty is skin deep; to watch a woman find herself is fucking hypnotic. A radiance leaches through the cloud surrounding Hannah as she loses herself in the music. Her words, her art—I’m just a voyeur now, stalking her private journey. Maybe that’s why I’ve fallen silent from my stretched-out position against the armrest. Stalker Wes with his body reacting to each sigh and twitch of hers.
It’s a funny thing, self-denial. I’ll admit it’s a game I’ve rarely played. Always seemed selfish to me, because that’s what it is, an exclusive event: me versus me. What could be more selfish than that?
But there’s something freeing about each thud. It’s a reminder of what this woman is to me. It’s torture the way she gathers her hair in a lazy clump with one hand and runs the tip of a pen along her bottom lip with the other. Torture, yes, and rewarding because she’s lost in something other than masking her pain.
“You need a new keyboard,” she says, finally joining me on Earth. “You know they make them with the knobs and faders actually built in now?”
“Whatever. There’s nothing wrong with Bessy. She likes her little nanoKONTROL companion.”
“Bessy? Also, her companion is a parasite.”
Parasite? Okay, that was funny. “Hey, how about you figure out what you’re playing on the chorus while I go make coffee.”
“Gonna be a long night, eh?”
“At the rate you’re not working? Probably.”
There’s the playful glare I’ve come to crave. She lets her hair drop from the makeshift bun, and I have to look away. Self-denial is hard when the person you’re denying tears through your clothing with a gaze that rages over hot flesh. Thud-thud-thud.
“Cream?” I ask.
“Black today.”
“You hungry?”
“No.”
“You sure? I can order something.”
“Not hungry.”
I don’t believe her.
My hand shakes from restrained need now. I grip the bag of beans to settle the tremor. Knuckles white, the last thing I can tolerate is her approach, so of course I turn to find that searing gaze inches away. She tugs the hem of my shirt. Warm fingers that play with hair and piano keys now work their way over my abs.
They slide down, and I hiss in a breath.
“That was amazing,” she whispers. “Know what else would be amazing right now?”
I close my eyes.
“What’s that?” I manage. She has to know what she’s doing to me.
Her hands trail back up my chest, massage the taut muscle beneath my shirt.
“I would. Absolutely love. Ice cream.”
My eyelids snap open to find a volcanic grin that burns straight through my lust. My lips spread into an equally wide smile because, my god, she’s serious.
“Is that so. What flavor?”
The corner of her mouth quirks up as she squints in thought. “Chocolate, I think. Wait, double chocolate.”
Those lips are begging for a kiss. Sure it’s dangerous, but she’s left me no choice. I lean in to brush my response against her mouth.
“Fine. But you’re going with me.”
“Like a date?” she asks, eyes hooded with expectation.
“Exactly like a date.” I skim another touch on those addictive lips.
“I want sprinkles.”
“Fine.”
“And whipped cream.”
“Done.”
“Chocolate chips.”
“Of course.”
“And banana. Oh, and a soft pretzel.”
“You know I’m unemployed now, right?”
∞∞∞
I don’t want to look away from the spoon sliding between her lips, along her tongue. Who needs booze when you’re two feet away from Hannah Drake eating ice cream?
Too bad my phone has to erupt and ruin it all.
“Give me a sec?”
Hannah’s eyes follow me with her nod.
“Jacob,” I say, shifting in the booth to face the window.
“Holland told me about your meeting.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you sign the papers?”
“Not yet. I will.”
“Well, don’t bother.”
Fuck. “Why not?”
“The Label is contesting the terms.”
“What do you mean?”
“They think Holland is being too generous and they want more of a cut for damages. The contract is dead.”
“Damages? Are you kidding me?”
“And… Mila posted again.”
“No way.”
“Says you’re in a relationship with Holland’s sister? Please tell me that’s not true.”
“What if it is? Hannah has nothing to do with this.”
I cast a look across the table, and the seductive spoon has stalled mid-air.
“She’s Holland’s sister! She has everything to do with this.” He q
uiets as I work on my breathing. “Look, I’m doing my best with the Label, but this thing with Hannah is not gonna fly. You’ve put her in Mila’s crosshairs. Holland too.”
“I didn’t even—”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in your drama anymore. I represent Holland and Tracing Holland. I’m calling because your shit is blowing back on my client and it’s got to stop.”
Did he steal that line from my father?
“Fuck you, Jacob. I took myself out of play. Gave my blessing to the guitar tech. What else do they want?”
“A public apology.”
“Not happening.”
“At a formal news conference.”
“I said—”
“They’d accept a high-profile interview too. As long as it comes across sincere enough to repair the damage you’ve inflicted on the band, they won’t sue.”
“Sue? What—”
“Find yourself a lawyer, Wes. We’ll be in touch with more details.”
∞∞∞
“What’s going on?” Hannah asks when I hang up.
I stare at the device I now hate with a passion. It’s a fucking grenade.
“Just a second.” I pull the pin on my phone-bomb and search for Mila’s latest attack.
Well, well, well. Have you heard the latest on everyone's fave disgraced rocker, Wes Alton?! I've had a whisper that he's copping off with Holland Drake’s little sister, Hannah. If you want to get your own back, diddling your exes sis is one way to slap her in the chops. Mate, can you sink any lower? Or is it Hannah running after big sis’ sloppy seconds? If his performance on stage is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be queuing up to test out his skills in the sack…
I close my eyes, fingertips pressing into the planes of my face.
“Wes? What’s wrong?”
I can’t look at her, this girl who’s about to see her world destroyed because of me. I don’t have an explanation, no magic to soften the blow, so I just hand her the phone and let it burn.
Her face drains of color as she reads. Eyes glossy, her head remains bent over the phone for longer than necessary. In silence, I watch as she absorbs what I am: the snake she should have run away from.
Viper (NSB Book 3) Page 17