Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  Jeremy laughs. “It won’t be like that. Just a few tweaks here and there, I promise.”

  I sink back into the couch wondering if what Crew said is right. Are we about to sell our souls to the devil? Maybe that’s what’s necessary to get to the next level in this business.

  “And?” Crew says. “There must be more.”

  “New material,” Jeremy says. “You have to churn out new songs. I’d like you to have another album cut by June.”

  “June?” Garrett shouts. “You’re crazy. There’s a handful we’ve been working on, but ten? By June?”

  “I was thinking more like twelve, maybe more.” Jeremy nods to me. “Bria has some that will work, don’t you, honey?”

  I stand up and hand him the contract. “If you call me honey one more time, I’m walking out that door.”

  He pushes the papers back to me. “Feisty. I like it. Okay, Bria. I’ve listened to your work, and I’m impressed.”

  “Great,” Crew says, sounding more than a little pissed. “I’ll just play the goddamn tambourine or something.”

  “Don’t worry, big man,” Jeremy says. “That’s not what I had in mind.” He turns to me. “I’d like to change some of your songs, adapt them for two singers. Do you think you could do that? I think there’s a lot of untapped potential there.”

  I try not to smile and give anything away. What he doesn’t know—what nobody knows—is that I’ve already been doing that. I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “What do you say?” Liam asks. “Are we doing this?”

  Crew puts down the contract. “We need some time to think about it. You know, talk about it as a band?”

  Jeremy hands each of us a business card. “As you should, but don’t take too long. I have to give SummerStage an answer by Friday.”

  “SummerStage?” Crew asks, perking up. “An answer to what exactly?”

  “With a little help from Liam’s uncle, I’ve secured you a spot in the lineup this summer. As you know, it’s the largest outdoor music festival in New York City. The exposure could be even better than opening for White Poison.”

  Garrett’s jaw drops. “SummerStage? Are you shitting me?”

  “That’s just the beginning.” Jeremy crosses to the barn door and turns. “Friday,” he says before leaving us staring at each other in stunned silence.

  Slowly, a smile creeps up Brad’s face. “Holy shit!” He flips through the contract. “Where do I sign?”

  Crew stops Brad’s hand. “Hold on. What do we even know about Jeremy?”

  All eyes focus on Liam. “I only just met him. Dirk introduced me to him yesterday. He may be my uncle’s buddy, but I did some research. He’s legit.”

  “How is it we’re only now hearing about this?” Crew asks. “If he’s legit, why didn’t Dirk tell us about him a long time ago?”

  “He didn’t want to get our hopes up. But after our gig with White Poison and all the attention we’ve gotten lately, he finally gets that we’re the real deal.”

  “The real deal?” Garrett asks. “As in he didn’t think we were good enough before?”

  Everyone looks at me. I cringe.

  Liam touches my shoulder. “I told you good things would happen if we brought her in.”

  Crew skirts the back of the couch. “Re-record all of our songs? That’s a lot of damn work.”

  “Work that will pay off in the long run,” Liam says. “You know it will.” He turns to me. “Are you up for it? This puts a lot on you, too. We’ll help where we can. But Crew’s our lyricist, which means you’ll have to spend a lot of time together, reworking your songs.”

  “Great.” Crew looks less than excited as he gets a bottle of water from the mini fridge.

  Liam slings his guitar over one shoulder. “Listen, if it was up to me, this would be a done deal. But it has to be unanimous. If you want to go in a different direction, well, that’s the way it will have to be.”

  “But … SummerStage,” Garrett says, pouting.

  Crew smiles for the first time today. “I have to admit performing there would be pretty sweet.”

  Garrett hops off the couch and goes for his drumsticks. “Come on, then. We have a lot of work to do. We have until Friday, so we don’t have to decide today.” He walks around his drums and sits on his stool. He leans forward, close to his mic, then he belts out in an announcer’s voice, “SummerStage presents the hottest up-and-coming rock band in the tri-state area—Reckless Alibi!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Crew

  New material by this summer.

  I shake my head for the umpteenth time since meeting Jeremy Halstead a few hours ago. I admit, it’s what we’ve been working so hard for all these years, so why, now that it’s happening, do I feel so apprehensive about it? Of the four of us, I think I’m the only one questioning any of it.

  I blow out a breath and let my head sink back onto the couch—the five of us.

  I make sure everyone is gone and then pull out my notebook. It’s almost always with me so I can jot down lyrics when they come to me. But nobody gets to see it. They all know it’s private until I complete a song.

  Getting comfy on the couch, I open it to some of the first pages, knowing we could use some of it for the new material Jeremy is demanding. I just don’t know if I can, though. I flip through the pages knowing some of them I could never sing—not even if a gun were pointed at my head. But there are a few that could work. Mom still has a few of my notebooks—surely there are bits and pieces I could turn into songs. I’ll have to make a trip into the city and see if I can find them.

  I open the “Abby” photo album on my phone and look at the pictures. Would she be okay with that? Would I?

  There are two songs I wrote when we were dating that weren’t really about her at all. One was about her dad, specifically about being controlled by someone who wanted to dictate your life. It could be about anyone. I’d have to adapt the song for Bria. The second song is about a turtle. I still remember the day Abby and I helped it get from the sidewalk to a pond. The lyrics I wrote about that damn turtle were stupid, but if I changed them a bit the song could be about finding your way and letting people help you.

  Some of the songs I wrote about Abby were shared with Naked Whale. We even put them to music. They were pretty damn good, especially when Abby was singing with me. Liam is the only member of RA who’s ever heard them, and he knows better than to bring them up.

  But these two … I run my fingers across the lyrics I wrote about Abby’s father and hum the tune in my head, remembering it all these years later.

  I go to the keyboard. It’s for the band, I tell myself.

  I position my hands over the keys and close my eyes. Then I play. I mess up a few times, but then I find the right melody and sing. I don’t need to look at the words. Every lyric I’ve ever written is burned into my memory.

  “Not bad,” Bria says from the door when I finish.

  Surprised, I step away from the keyboard. “I thought everyone was gone.”

  “Car won’t start,” she says.

  I go over to the couch and close my notebook. “I think I have jumper cables.”

  She follows me out. “Is that something you’ve been working on?”

  “I wrote it a long time ago.” I close the barn door behind us.

  “I’ve never heard you play it. It’s a shame, because it’s good. Are you thinking of adding it to our lineup?”

  Our lineup. I stop myself before I say something I shouldn’t. She’s a member of the band now, like it or not.

  “Maybe.” I open my trunk and get the jumper cables. “It’s cold. Go sit in your car while I get it started.” I pull over and get her hooked up, then start my car. I roll down the window. “Try it now.”

  Her car doesn’t start. I go through the motions again without success.

  Her forehead meets the steering wheel. “What am I going to do now?” She opens her purse and gets out her wallet. I see a few twenties. “How much do
you think it will cost to Uber back to the city?”

  “It’s an hour drive. So a lot. You know they don’t take cash, right? Surely you have enough in your account to cover the ride.”

  She sighs. “I have some overdue bills.” She gets out of the car and slams the door. “Could you drop me off at the train station then?”

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll drive you to the city myself.”

  She’s surprised. “You haven’t wanted to spend one minute alone with me, not to mention an hour.”

  “There’s something I need to take care of there. Something I need from my mom’s house.”

  “She lives in the city? But I thought you grew up here in Stamford.”

  “I did. She moved there a few years ago after she met the guy who’s now my stepdad.”

  She looks at her car and then at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Leave your keys in the car. I’ll text Liam to ask one of his uncle’s mechanics to take a look. I’m sure they’ll have it fixed in no time.”

  “You don’t have to work today?”

  “It’s Tuesday, my day off.”

  “Right.” She looks as though she’d rather get in the car with a serial killer. “Okay, thanks. Give me a sec.”

  She retrieves a notebook from her vehicle. It looks a lot like mine. “Don’t tell me—it’s where you write down your lyrics.”

  “How did you know?”

  I get in the car and flash her my notebook. “Got one of my own.” I toss it in the backseat.

  She gets in and puts on her seatbelt. I look out my side window as I back up. When I look out the front window again she’s got my notebook in her hand. I swipe it from her. “No.”

  I toss it in the back again.

  “Jeez, touchy are we?”

  “Nobody reads it, Bria. I mean it.”

  She stares at me for a minute, looking genuinely sorry. She runs her hand over her own notebook. “Crew, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched it. I know how personal it can be. I won’t do it again.”

  I start driving.

  “Can I show you something?” she asks.

  “Sure.” I put the car in park.

  She opens her notebook to a page and hands it to me. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m reading. She’s changed one of her songs, adding lyrics for me to sing.

  “When did you do this?”

  “I’ve been working on it a while.”

  Familiar with the song from when I listened to her album, I play it in my head. “Bria, this is great. Jesus, the guys will salivate over this.”

  She smiles. “You think so?”

  “Hell yes. Are there more?”

  She nods, then looks at me strangely.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just … that might be the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”

  “No way.” I think back. I’ve complimented her many times. Haven’t I? At least I have in my head.

  “Yes way.”

  I’m a real prick. Way to go, Chris. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a douchebag.”

  “To some it comes naturally.” She elbows me in the ribs, and I roll my eyes.

  I put the car in gear. “We have to get going. How about you sing them for me on the way?”

  “Okay.”

  She sings the one she showed me, both her parts and mine. I ask her to sing it a second time and then once more. This time I sing my part, then we join in on the chorus, only I do it differently.

  “That’s brilliant,” she says. “I like it your way much better. Can we try it again from the top?”

  We sing it two more times, and I’m smiling ear to ear. I haven’t had this much fun singing in a car since—fuck. I briefly close my eyes, remembering whose car I’m driving, and guilt washes over me.

  “Crew!”

  I slam on the brakes; traffic has stopped because of an accident.

  “Damn.” I crane my neck, looking ahead. “Looks like we might be stuck here a while.”

  She opens her notebook. “Want to try another to pass the time?”

  Ten minutes later, we’ve mastered another one of her songs. She wrote my parts better than I ever could. She’s a better lyricist than I am—hell, she’s becoming a better me than I am. And suddenly, I question the need for Chris Rewey in Reckless Alibi.

  “You look sad,” she says.

  “Just questioning my existence.” I say it like a joke, but I think she sees through my bullshit.

  “None of this would work if it was just me or just you. You guys were good before me, and I was good before you, but together it just …”

  “Works,” I say.

  She nods. “Yeah. It does.”

  I stretch back and retrieve my notebook from the backseat. I open it to a page near the front. “Tell me what you think of this one.” I give her a pointed look. “But only this one.”

  “Got it,” she says, laughing. She mimes the sign of the cross. “May lightning strike me dead if I turn the page.”

  I’m beginning to appreciate Bria’s strange sense of humor.

  She reads the lyrics. No, she studies them. She scrutinizes them. “Why did you name this song ‘Viaje de Tortuga?’ That’s Spanish, right?”

  “It is. It means ‘turtle’s journey.’ We wrote it … er, I wrote it when I was helping a turtle get to a pond.”

  She laughs.

  “What?”

  She looks at me and laughs harder.

  “What’s so funny about the song? It’s not supposed to be funny.”

  She wipes her eyes. “No. I know it’s not. It’s just, the coincidence.”

  “What coincidence?”

  She flips through her notebook, then shoves it at me. “Read,” she says, covering the top of the page with her thumb. “I wrote this when I was thirteen.”

  I read her lyrics, but I don’t get why that has anything to do with me or my turtle song. Her song is about somebody always in a hurry. It’s childlike and nonsensical. “I have no idea what I’m reading. And I’m not sure how to say this, but it’s really bad.”

  She laughs again. “I know. Like I said, I wrote it when I was a kid.”

  “What’s so funny then?”

  She finally moves her thumb and shows me the title: ‘The Race of the Cottontail.’

  I skim the lyrics again, and it makes a little more sense. “You wrote a song about a rabbit?”

  She looks at me like she’s waiting for me to get it.

  “What?” I ask again.

  “Don’t you get it? It’s the tortoise and the hare.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “You and me—we’re the tortoise and the hare. You know, in the old story.”

  I shake my head, confused.

  “You are fast, overconfident, and distracted,” she says, amused.

  “What does that make you?”

  “Slow but relentless.”

  I chuckle. “Relentless. I’d agree with that. But the tortoise won the race. Are you saying I’m a loser?”

  “It’s true the tortoise won, but only because they didn’t work together. You and me, we’re working together, and that makes us unstoppable, just like when we’re up onstage.”

  She’s right. We’re amazing when we’re together. “What does that have to do with the story of the tortoise and the hare?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t exactly know, but I’m sure there’s something there we could make into a song.”

  She closes her eyes tightly and bites her lip. She’s thinking hard. Then a luminous smile lights up her face and she belts out a lyric.

  Holy shit, is she for real? Damn it if she doesn’t inspire me. The traffic is still not moving, and as I stare out the window, it comes to me. I recite the next line.

  She’s quick to come up with the next one, then it’s my turn again. It’s like we’re in each other’s heads. It’s fucking unbelievable. This feeling—it’s exhilarating.

  Our gazes lock in a moment of siz
zling awareness. Without thinking about it, I lean across the console and kiss her. I kiss her hard. She resists, as if I took her by surprise, but then she lets my tongue into her mouth and kisses me back. Her lips are lazy and teasing. Pulse waves ripple through me, tingling my groin. Every nerve ending I have comes brutally to life. Holy shit times two. This kiss—it’s the best goddamn kiss I’ve ever had in a car.

  I remember where I am and pull back. I’m not just in any car. I’m in Abby’s car. Guilt hits me a second time.

  A horn blasts behind me. Traffic is finally moving again.

  “Sorry,” I say, my eyes locked on the road in front of me. “I shouldn’t have done that. I won’t do it again. Let’s keep this between us, okay?”

  She doesn’t answer, but I can feel her eyes burning into me. I can’t look at her, though, because if I do, I fear Bria might not be the girl looking back at me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bria

  This week has been a whirlwind. Crew stayed at his mom’s in the city every night so we could work on songs going to and from practice. But after that first day, he insisted on driving back and forth in my car. I find it strange, because I swear he has some kind of unnatural attachment to that old Nissan. He loves driving it, but he doesn’t seem to want me in it. Not after that day. I thought maybe he didn’t want to spend money on gas, but he insisted on paying for mine. The man is a puzzle. I’m just trying to figure out if I want to bother solving it.

  He hasn’t tried to kiss me again. It’s as if it never happened. Which is probably for the best all things considered. But when I look at him, all I can think about is that kiss. It was the best one I’ve ever experienced, but also the worst, because I shouldn’t have let it happen. We have a good thing going. I can’t let this turn out like before. We need to keep it professional.

  That day in the car, I felt we had a breakthrough—right up until he kissed me. Now the tension between us is worse than before but in a different way. Singing or writing lyrics are the only times things feel normal between us.

  Tonight we’re all on a high. We signed the contract with Jeremy this morning, and we’re playing our last show at the same bar where I played my first RA gig.