Brand New Sky

by Heidi Hutchinson

  BRAND NEW SKY

  by Heidi Hutchinson

  Discover other titles by Heidi Hutchinson

  Double Blind Study Series:

  Learn to Fly

  In Your Honor

  Tectonic

  Deepest Blues

  The Hope That Starts

  Brand New Sky

  Anthologies:

  Naked Came The Trio (poetry)

  www.heidih.net

  BRAND NEW SKY

  © 2015 Heidi Hutchinson

  EBOOK EDITION

  Editor: Jo Evans

  Cover Photos purchased from Shutterstock.

  Cover Design by Penny Reid

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “If you ever loved me,

  say it like you're going to come back.”

  -River Song

  To Jamie

  I love being all up in your goodies

  Table of Contents

  Prologue 8

  Chapter 1 13

  Valley of Tomorrow 13

  Chapter 2 18

  New Romantics 18

  Chapter 3 27

  Sugar 27

  Chapter 4 34

  Little Bird 34

  Chapter 5 41

  Explosions 41

  Chapter 6 46

  Buddy Holly 46

  Chapter 7 54

  Treacherous 54

  Chapter 8 58

  The Heart 58

  Chapter 9 64

  Wanted Man 64

  Chapter 10 68

  Times Like These 68

  Chapter 11 70

  Learning To Fly 70

  Chapter 12 76

  Burn 76

  Chapter 13 81

  Echo 81

  Chapter 14 85

  66 85

  Chapter 15 86

  Say It 86

  Chapter 16 94

  Carve Your Heart 94

  Chapter 17 97

  Free 97

  Chapter 18 102

  Absence of Fear 102

  Chapter 19 107

  Slumber 107

  Chapter 20 112

  Parachute 112

  Chapter 21 117

  Slide 117

  Chapter 22 123

  My Way 123

  Chapter 23 127

  Beautiful Day 127

  Chapter 24 132

  I Won't Back Down 132

  Chapter 25 137

  Golden 137

  Chapter 26 143

  I Was Made For Loving You 143

  Chapter 27 146

  I'm Still Here 146

  Chapter 28 149

  One 149

  Chapter 29 155

  Back and Forth 155

  Chapter 30 159

  If It's Love 159

  Chapter 31 165

  What's Simple Is True 165

  Chapter 32 170

  My Poor Brain 170

  Chapter 33 175

  Bend And Not Break 175

  Chapter 34 181

  Hurricane 181

  Chapter 35 185

  1000 Miles Away 185

  Chapter 36 189

  Where You Are 189

  Chapter 37 192

  Burn Away 192

  Chapter 38 197

  Bridge Burning 197

  Chapter 39 203

  Everlong 203

  “EPIClogue” 207

  Colorful 207

  Acknowledgments 214

  About the Author 216

  Stubborn Hearts (Sneak Peek) 217

  (unedited) 217

  Prologue

  4 Years Ago

  Cologne, Germany

  Sway watched Ilsa glide across the suite, heading for the decanter. Her perfect execution of her flawless elegance made his lips twist with appreciation... and distrust.

  He didn't like it that she was here.

  He didn't like it that she made him feel like this was the only safe place for her to be.

  It wasn't right.

  It had all started when he'd agreed to keep her visits to him a secret.

  Her story had been... alluring.

  She had come to him crying perfect tears that dripped in exquisite crystal droplets from her porcelain skin. The description of fragile brokenness... and loneliness.

  He had offered his shoulder, as was his instinct.

  Few things existed in this world that Sway could turn away, and one of them was a devastatingly beautiful woman. Especially if she was crying.

  But the crying bouts had started to feel less like him comforting her and more like... something else. Something he wasn't comfortable identifying yet.

  It seemed wrong, somehow, to accuse a woman of being emotionally manipulative when that's exactly the reputation he had proudly carried around since his sixteenth birthday.

  It wasn't something he had ever fretted about, he was manipulative to a certain extent. He discovered very early on that he was gifted with getting exactly what he wanted from the fantastic women in his life—and they had never complained.

  Why would they?

  But this, whatever it was that Ilsa was playing at, was something different. It held the whiff of deception and the hint of feminine arrogance. Two traits he had very strong feelings about. The first, he hated. The second was a huge turn-on. Together? It put him on edge.

  Her text tonight about needing to see him, her plea for him to take her back to his room—something he wasn't inclined to do with a woman who wasn't his—it had more than put him on edge. It had him paranoid.

  “Would you like one?” she asked, her velvet voice sliding across his skin at the same rate and warmth as the bourbon she was pouring into her glass.

  “Yeah,” he said stiffly, reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie.

  He had actually been on a date with a very nice girl—Heidi—before Ilsa's text decided to drag him away from it. Which was too bad, he rather liked Heidi. She was the picturesque mountain girl straight out of the story. Blonde braids and everything. Sway had been hoping to get to know her even better. He hadn't even gotten to ask her if she had any goats.

  The tie came free and he tossed it onto a nearby table. He pivoted slightly and faced the mirror close to the door as he undid the top two buttons of his white dress shirt. The gray suit jacket should probably get hung up, he thought, as that too, came free of his shoulders and landed on the table beside the tie.

  “I always rather liked that tie on you,” Ilsa said, her voice drawing closer as she returned to him, drink in hand. “It brings out the gray in your eyes.”

  Sway took the tumbler and raised it to his lips, all without removing his gaze from hers. Mike had once described Ilsa as being like a beam of moonlight. Sway could see that. The way she shimmered, floated across a room. Seemingly close enough to touch, but mysteriously out of reach.

  He swallowed a healthy mouthful of the bourbon, drawing his lips into his mouth and pressing them together to wring out the burn and not waste a drop. She watched with avid fascination.

  She did that, though.

  Ilsa liked men.

  She liked the way they looked, the way they moved. Most of all, she liked the way they liked her.

  A muscle in Sway's neck tensed and he clenched his jaw in response.

  She was completely at ease now.

  The text had been frantic,
the following phone call more so. He'd had to calm her down after finding her on the street outside the restaurant, soothe her frayed emotions, hold her the entire cab ride over and help her up to his suite.

  The mascara was still smudged under her eyes.

  Dry eyes.

  Her lips twitched in a suppressed smile as she raised her own tumbler to her lips.

  It came too easily to her... the flirting. It was second nature. Sway guessed she'd been playing men her entire life to get what she wanted.

  So what was it that she wanted from him?

  “Where's Mike?” Sway asked slowly, lifting his chin while narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

  Ilsa's body bucked and her gentle face went blank. She belted back the bourbon and turned away from him. Going straight for a refill.

  “Ilsa,” he called softly.

  She set the glass down and began to pour.

  “I don't know,” she said, emotion tearing through her words and making them ragged. She turned around, tears having already formed in her eyes. “And I don't care.”

  “Did you end things with him?” Sway asked carefully.

  She sniffed and shook her head. “It's been over for so long... I thought he loved me, but he's...” Her voice trailed off as she looked to the window and out into the dark night. “Just like all the rest.”

  Sway took a slow step into the suite and decided to sit down on the couch. He had no idea where she was, but it was far away by the look on her face.

  This was the usual ground they covered. Her ache—her pain—was so acute, he couldn't ignore it. He also hadn't figured out yet how to fix it. Maybe it wasn't his place. Except that she had trusted him with this. She'd come to him, begging total secrecy and total understanding—things he could give her without issue. Though, he felt weird thinking that she couldn't go to Mike with this.

  “Have you talked to him about what we discussed?” Sway asked, bringing her back from whatever memory had temporarily claimed her.

  Her blue eyes were foggy as she crossed one arm over the other and took another drink. It was more of a protective stance, not really closed off. Hiding.

  “No,” she said finally.

  “He'd want to know,” Sway said gently.

  Her eyes flashed to him and her face hardened. “How would you know?”

  “Because he loves you,” Sway pressed.

  She rolled her eyes and looked away again. “He's really messed up, Sway,” she said bizarrely. Normally they talked about her. Her past, her pain, her problems. She never shared what was going on with her and Mike.

  “What's he doing, baby?” he asked her, concerned.

  At the tone of his voice and his endearment, her face softened and she looked to him again. “I love it when you call me baby.” she whispered, her eyes glossing over.

  “Come sit by me,” he said, gesturing with his shoulder without breaking eye contact.

  She breathed slowly for several minutes as she thought about it. Then she finally acquiesced, taking a seat next to him, crossing one leg over the other.

  “He goes out,” she started haltingly. “Sometimes he doesn't come back until morning.”

  This wasn't exactly news. Sway and the rest of the band were pretty sure Mike had been using, and frequently, since they'd hit Europe. He didn't spend much time with any of them anymore. But they were all busy partying in their own way.

  Harrison seemed to have made it his mission to eat from every restaurant in every city they visited. Blake and Luke thought it would be a fun idea to become closely acquainted with the various spirits and libations every province had to offer. Which wouldn't really be that bad if they could remember to sober up on time for a show every once in a while.

  And Sway, well Sway had been enjoying the fact that he was an American rock star surrounded by women who spoke very little English.

  As the baby of the group, he thought he was actually the tame one—besides Harry, who was practically a saint.

  But Mike had gone off grid.

  No one saw him until show time.

  Not that anyone had been checking.

  He was usually surly and closed off. Not exactly the kind of guy someone seeks out for pleasurable company.

  But he was different with Ilsa.

  He was careful with her. Gentle. Devoted.

  So they left him to it.

  “I think there's someone else,” Ilsa said, her voice cracking too much. Too much tremor, too much hurt. She slid one hand along his thigh and squeezed.

  Sway tried to take another solid breath as he covered his mouth with one hand.

  It all clicked into place.

  Too late.

  The knock at his door came and he stood abruptly to answer it.

  He was irritated. Not with her, not with the interruption. With himself.

  He was so young and stupid still.

  His mother had warned him this would happen, and now it had.

  The door swung open and Harrison stood there. Sway didn't note the guitarist's pallor or confused expression.

  He really should have.

  “Can I help you with something?” Sway asked.

  Harrison frowned, searching for the right words. “We have to go to the hospital,” he finally declared.

  “Who is it?” Ilsa asked and Sway knew... he just... knew.

  This was the worst thing that was going to happen to all of them.

  Harrison saw Sway's face change and whatever he interpreted from it caused him to push through Sway and enter the suite. He looked from Ilsa to Sway. From the drink in Ilsa's hand to the undone buttons on Sway's shirt and he rendered his conclusion and declared his judgment loudly.

  “You're a terrible friend!” Harrison hurled at Sway who flinched in response. “Mike's dying! Right now!”

  “It's not what it looks like,” Sway defended himself quietly.

  “Really? I tell you that Mike is dying and your first response is to worry about what this looks like?” Harrison continued with his accusations.

  Ilsa bolted up from her seat, the glass in her hand crashing to the table. “Where is Mike?”

  “Don't pretend like you care!” Harrison hollered in return and Sway was reminded that he grew up with two sisters, so Harrison's first instinct when it came to women he was mad at was to be loud. “You know what you are, don't you? There's a word for women like you.”

  “Harrison!” Sway snapped, slamming the door he had been holding open.

  Harrison spun to face him, furious. “Overdose, Sway!”

  “Maybe he's faking it!” Sway shouted, hoping to God he was right, while still feeling that turn in his gut that told him it was truth.

  “He's going to blame it on me,” Ilsa said through a sob and she ran for the door.

  “What would he blame on you? Are you cheating on him?” Harrison tried to cut her off, but Sway stepped in between them and held Harrison back. “What the hell is going on?!” Harrison yelled over Sway's shoulder at Ilsa as she fled out the door.

  Sway pushed Harrison back and the guitarist's brown eyes narrowed on him.

  “She doesn't matter,” Sway ground out forcefully.

  Harrison breathed deeply, the anger in his eyes a mask for the fear he was feeling. Sway felt it aimed at him. Not at anyone else. Him.

  “Nothing happened with Ilsa,” Sway said, calmer now. Wanting Harrison to believe him. Wanting anyone to believe him. He knew how it looked.

  It felt worse. An ugly, grotesque twist of bile in his gut.

  “Let's get to the hospital,” Sway suggested. The idea of Mike overdosing was completely believable. And with that reality sinking in, Sway realized that their lives could very well be changing forever at this moment.

  Harrison took a breath and then nodded, his dark eyes turned down on the sides revealing that his worry ran deep.

  Silence clouded over the two as they took a cab to the hospital and settled in the waiting room.

  Sway began to go over every det
ail of his interaction with Ilsa in his head. What was said, what was done. Which lies had he ignored simply because she was beautiful? Was anything she said true? The stories she told, the tears she cried—the fallacy of her words began to sharpen in his mind.

  Looking back, he could see clearly where she had placed her lines and her looks and her traps. He'd happily stepped into every single one. Too naïve to know this would be a hard learned lesson.

  But he'd learned it.

  Most, if not all, of what had happened with Ilsa had been innocent—at least on his part. He never touched her, never allowed his thoughts to open up to her. He didn't share himself with her.

  No one would ever believe that, they didn't need to. It would never be up to the court of public opinion whether or not he had done the right thing.

  He had been a friend. She had trusted him, and no matter that she had used him, he was still who he was. He wasn't going to start trying to cover his own ass by airing her dirty laundry all over the globe.

  He caused this.

  So he would take the reputation that came with it. He would apologize to Mike—if he ever got the chance—he would take responsibility for his actions.

  It's what he'd earned.

  It's what he deserved.

  Sway's eyes tipped up to the television screen to see Ilsa's new play: a press conference. This really couldn't get any worse.

  He tuned into his present situation just enough to catch the end of Carl's tirade.

  “I said it a hundred times, but no one would listen to me. I said, it's a bad idea having women on the tour. Women are trouble. Every last one of them.”

  Sway agreed with him, though he couldn't vocalize it at the moment.

  Women were definitely trouble.

  Even a simple conversation with them was taking a huge risk.

  And, even with the shit that they continuously rained down on top of him, Sway knew he was always going to take that chance.

  Every time.

  Still, just once, Sway wished someone would understand him. One time, one person.

  One day he'd like to wake up to something new, instead of yesterday's clouds still hanging over his head.