by M. A. Foster
“Nah.” He waves us off. “I gotta pick up my date.”
“Make sure you check her ID before you let her in the car,” Liam quips before he slams the door shut.
Cam
Scanning the ballroom, I find Emerson standing at the bar with Bass, talking with the members of Royal Mayhem. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell Liam as I break away from the group and head toward Emerson, stopping along the way to shake hands with some of my old teammates.
Sliding my glass on the bar, I order another drink and turn to Emerson.
“No date tonight?” she asks, taking a sip of her champagne.
“I don’t need a date. I’m here to support Marcus’s charity. Besides, I’m heading back to Heritage right after this.”
“Liam brought a date.” She scowls over her shoulder.
“Liam needs a date to take a piss.” I smirk.
Emerson snorts a laugh. “True.” She props her petite hands on her hips and looks over her shoulder again. “I told him Dr. Ramos was off-limits. Jay needs her more than Liam does.”
“You know you can’t tell him he can’t have something. He’ll want it just to spite you.”
The bartender sets down a napkin and places my drink on top.
“Speaking of dates… Lauren is here as someone’s plus one.” She rolls her eyes.
“Poor guy,” I chuckle.
“No doubt,” she agrees.
Lauren Michaelson, my ex-girlfriend turned stalker, is a snake. A venomous one. Our relationship ended over two years ago, yet she’s everywhere I am. Right after I broke things off with her, Lauren tried getting in bed with Liam. That’s not the first time a woman has tried to bounce between him and me. Liam and I have always had a pact that a woman will never come between our friendship.
Unfortunately, Lauren’s little stunt caused a shitstorm of problems for Liam, single-handedly ruining his first attempt at a real relationship after his breakup with ‘the one who shall not be named.’
“How are things going with Jay? She looks great.”
Emerson smiles. “We’re taking it one day at a time, but she’s doing really well. Most days are the same. She eats, exercises, reads or watches YouTube videos.”
“Sounds like she’s back to her routine. What about her music?”
Emerson shakes her head. “She says she’s not ready.”
“Just give it time.”
Emerson
It’s only been an hour and I’ve reached my quota of “How are yous?” followed by a sympathetic look as I delivered my stock answer, “We’re taking it one day at a time.” I feel a little guilty for doling out the same response to Cam. Habit, I guess. But it’s still the truth. We all have our good days and bad days.
Cam picks up on my distress and comes to my rescue, holding out his hand. “Come on, Em. Let’s go dance.”
It’s amazing what you discover about people when you’re going through one of the worst times of your life. People I thought would be there for me just disappeared. Like Marcus’s bandmates, Tommy and Chaz. Tonight is the first time I’ve seen them since the funeral, though they did call once to check on Jay after she was admitted to the wellness center. I understand losing Marcus has been difficult on his bandmates, especially Andrew, and they’re coping the only way they can, but Andrew still makes an effort to check in on us when he can.
Then there’s my family and Cam, who called me almost every day to check on Jay and me. Cam and I talked for hours about everything and nothing. I started to look forward to his calls. And every night after we hung up, I slept like a baby.
“What’s your favorite memory of Marcus?” Cam asks.
“Hmm. There are so many, but I’d have to say it was the night we got married.”
“Oh come on.” He chuckles. “That’s every married woman’s go-to answer. Your husband was a rock god. You can do better than that.”
“Not the wedding itself. Before that. Before we flew to Vegas.”
Voices drifted up from the foyer as I stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in the long white sundress and jeweled sandals I’d plucked from my suitcase.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tommy Stone, the bass player, asked.
“She’s a kid,” Chaz Vargas, the keyboardist, added.
Fear gripped my heart and my chest tightened as I waited for Marcus’s reply. I sat down on the top step, tucking my dress between my knees. Doubt settled at the bottom of my stomach like a lead weight as reality kicked in and I began to question my choices over the last week.
This wasn’t me. I wasn’t impulsive. Yet somehow I’d fallen for this handsome stranger. A beautiful man with the most captivating eyes, lips that begged to be kissed and a body that screamed sex. A talented man with a voice that could melt the panties off a nun. A smart man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. A patient man who was willing to wait until I was his wife before taking me to bed.
“She’s a beautiful, smart young woman, and she wants to marry me,” Marcus argued.
“She’s the one?” Andrew asked, but it sounded like a statement more than a question.
“I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her,” Marcus told him. “I felt it. I’m in love.” I swear I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Then why are we standing around here wasting time? Go get your bride.” That was Andrew.
I heard the distinctive sound of them clapping each other on the back mixed with a few chuckles.
Before I could move from the step and pretend I hadn’t been listening, Marcus appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a knowing smile on his face.
Every time he smiled at me, a million butterflies would take flight in my stomach, leaving me breathless.
I felt the hot flush burning my cheeks, embarrassed that I’d been caught. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on such a personal moment between him and his bandmates, but I had to know that what we were feeling was real.
“Come on, beautiful.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go get married.”
“Emerson,” Chandler calls out, waving me over to the table where he sits with Andrew, Tommy, and Chaz.
Pulling out an empty chair, I sit down and cross my legs. “What’s up?”
“I’ve already had the information sent to your email, but I thought you’d want to know we had a discussion with Jayla. Jaybird is set to release next May, with the first single, ‘Piece of Me,’ to drop the second week of February. A tour in July.”
I look over at Andrew. “You’re cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Andrew is managing Lucas’s Wet ’n Wild tour, which kicks off next month.
“Tour ends right before the Grammys next year.”
“Perfect. Sounds good to me.”
“She chose Alex,” Andrew tells me.
Royal Mayhem needs a lead singer. Of course, Marcus wanted Alex, but since he left everything to Jay, he also left the decision up to her, too.
I smirk. “We knew she would.”
“Has she been working on her music?” Chandler asks.
“I don’t want to push her.”
“You need to push her,” Chaz hedges. “How long has it been since she’s touched an instrument or written a song?”
“Her father died, Chaz,” I snap. “Cut her some fucking slack.”
Chaz lurches forward. “Do you think the fans are gonna care about her feelings when she’s on stage?”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this Project Mayhem class?” Chandler asks.
“Yes,” I say to him, then narrow my eyes at Chaz. “She’ll be practicing five days a week with Alex.”
Chaz nods. “Good. I’m not trying to be a dick, Emerson. I just want her to be everything I know she’s capable of being. She’s extremely talented. If I need to pack my shit and move to Florida, then I’ll come.”
I curl my lip and reply, “No thank you,” and the whole table bursts into laughter. It’s no secret that I’ve had a love-hate relationship w
ith Chaz, and sometimes Tommy, over the years, but they loved Marcus and they love Jay.
“When do you leave?” Tommy asks.
“First week of August. We still have a few loose ends to tie up here. Jay has a modeling job next month and an interview with Miles Townsend after that. Then we still have to meet with her lawyers.”
“Sounds good,” Chandler says. “We’ll talk more before your move.”
Cam
It’s nearly 4:00 a.m. by the time I arrive back in Heritage Bay. Pulling into my driveway, I spot a shadowy figure standing on my porch.
What the—
Instead of pulling into the garage, I slam on the brakes and throw my truck in Park. Grabbing the baseball bat from my back seat, I shove open my door and charge toward the porch. A glow from the person’s cell phone gives me a clear view of her face.
“Chelsea?” She’s my nephew Zach’s childhood friend and the last person I’d expect to find on my porch at this time of night. “What are you doing out here? Where’s Zach?”
“He’s passed out. I called for an Uber, but security wouldn’t let them through the gate.” Good to know I’m getting my money’s worth on security. “As safe as this neighborhood is,” she adds, “I’m not about to walk up there at four in the morning in heels.”
“Why don’t you just stay in the guest room, and Zach can drive you home when he wakes up?”
“I’d rather not.” She looks away.
I roll my eyes. Teen drama. Here we go. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
I slip back behind the wheel as Chelsea climbs into the passenger seat. I notice she’s wearing a long sequined gown and remember that last night was their high school prom.
“How was prom?” I ask as I back out of the driveway.
“It was fine,” she replies softly as she stares out the window.
“Did you go with Zach? I thought he went with what’s her name.”
“Reagan,” she fills in. Reagan, that’s it. “He did.” It’s obvious she’s not going to tell me anything, so I stop asking questions and we drive to her house in silence.
“Thanks for the ride, Cam.” She reaches for the door.
“Chelsea.” I place my hand on her arm and she looks at me over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She lets out a defeated sigh. “Not really.”
“Did something happen between you and Zach?” I’m so out of my league here. The only teenage girl I’ve ever had an in-depth conversation with is Jay, and even with her, it’s like talking to an adult.
“It’s embarrassing.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I think you should know. Zach caught Reagan cheating on him last night at the after-party.” I raise my brows. Well shit. “He didn’t say anything, just stormed out of the party. I didn’t want him to be alone, so I went with him. We got a little drunk….” She shrugs.
And they hooked up at my house. Great.
I nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”
My sister, Elizabeth—Liz—and her husband, Mike, have two boys, Logan and Zach. With Logan off at college, Zach spends a lot of time at my house. He’s the baby, just turned eighteen and a junior at Heritage Bay Academy. He’s a generally good kid, labeled Heritage Bay’s “golden boy” as the star quarterback on the varsity football team, with his good looks, good sportsmanship on the field and his ability to stay out of trouble. On the field, he’s a leader. But off the field, he’s a bit of an introvert. Quiet. Shy.
Nevertheless, I love the kid, and I love having him around. When I began house hunting, one of my main requirements was that it be big enough for Zach and Logan to each have their own rooms. I love my sister, but she can be a pain in the ass sometimes, so I wanted my nephews to have some place they could go—as long as they didn’t bring strangers into my house or throw parties.
It’s nearly noon by the time Zach drags his ass into the kitchen without so much as a hello, heading straight for the refrigerator. He pulls out a Gatorade, twists off the cap, and downs the entire bottle before tossing it in the trash. He leans over the counter on his elbows and drags his hands down his face.
“Rough night?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Here.” I pull an extra sandwich from the bag and slide it across the counter. “This will help soak up some of that alcohol. You need to sober up. Your dad called me looking for you because you’re not answering his calls.”
“I just talked to him.” He unwraps the sandwich and takes a hearty bite.
“What happened last night?”
He stops chewing, brows furrowed, as if he’s just remembered something. “Where’s Chelsea?”
“I took her home.”
“Thanks,” he manages to mumble around a mouthful of food.
“I didn’t really have a choice. She was standing on my porch when I pulled up at four o’clock this morning.”
He takes another bite and stares off at nothing. I’ve never seen him so spaced out before, like he’s on autopilot. “I told her she could stay in the spare room.”
“I offered it to her, but she couldn’t get out of here fast enough. She seemed upset,” I press.
He turns to the refrigerator. “We hooked up last night,” he tells me as he pulls out another Gatorade. “If you wanna call it that,” he mumbles.
“Well that’s not good.”
He exhales harshly through his nose. “No it wasn’t. I had a lot to drink.”
“Whiskey dick is the worst.” I chuckle. “Hooking up with your best friend probably wasn’t one of the smartest things you’ve ever done.” He shoots me a glare as if to tell me I’m one to talk. I shrug. “What happened to your girlfriend?”
He huffs out a disgusted laugh. “She cheated on me. We went to prom, danced, took pictures and did all the prom shit she wanted to do. Then we went to the after-party. As soon as we got there, she said she was going to use the bathroom. She was only gone a few minutes before some girl, I don’t even know who, came up to me and said she saw Reagan go into one of the bedrooms with Grayson Martinez.”
I know the Martinez boys. Grayson is a senior and Evan is a junior, and one of Zach’s best friends. Both are Zach’s teammates. This could be a huge problem.
Zach pauses to take a drink of his Gatorade and then sets it on the counter. “I told the girl to show me which bedroom. The door was unlocked and the room was empty. But then I heard them. They were in the closet.” He throws his hands up.
“What did you say?”
He shrugs. “What could I say? ‘Hey, Grayson, could you stop fucking my girlfriend?’ I just left.” He clasps his hands together behind his head and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I knew Reagan was bad news, so that’s on me. But I can’t believe Grayson went behind my back like that. I thought we were friends.” He lifts his head and looks at me. “His girlfriend was there, too.”
“I’m sorry that happened, man, but it sounds like he did you a favor.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Maybe I’ll send him a thank-you note.”
“How was the fundraiser?” Jules asks as she shifts, folding her hands on my chest and propping her chin on top of them.
“Eventful,” I chuckle. “Lauren was there.”
Jules face twists in disgust. “She’s like a herpes.”
I throw my head back and laugh. Her English has improved greatly since she moved to the States over ten years ago, but sometimes her Russian comes out. It’s adorable.
I was a senior in high school when Jules moved in with the Sterlings next door. It didn’t take long for us to become friends. Aside from my mom and sister, Jules is one of the few females I fully trust. She knows everything about me, including my feelings for Emerson—not that she really gave me a choice.
“Cameron… Cameron… Cameron,” my mom called out, her voice growing louder each time she said my name as her footsteps drew closer.
Quickly I slid the photo I’d been staring
at for the last half hour between the pages of my math textbook and fixed my attention on the page in front of me, pretending to study.
With a quick knock, she peeked her head around the door. “Cameron, honey, didn’t you hear me calling you? Dinner’s ready, and the Sterlings are here.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I replied, keeping my eyes on my textbook. “I’m studying for the big math test tomorrow. I have to pass with at least a B or Coach won’t let me pitch the next game. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay, sweetie. Take your time. I’ll make you a plate.”
“Thanks.”
I listened to her footsteps fade as she moved farther down the hall, but a new set grew louder the closer they got to my door. My bedroom door swung open and in walked Jules.
Jules was a distant relative to Mrs. Sterling. She’d moved here from Russia to attend classes at Heritage University. Jules was just a year older than me, and we’d recently become good friends. She was pretty with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, and was totally off-limits—according to my parents and the Sterlings—which was fine with me. She wasn’t my type.
I preferred older women—one in particular, with shiny black hair and green eyes. A woman who was far out of my league.
Unavailable.
Forbidden.
“You’re not eating with us?” she asked as she moved to sit on the edge of my bed.
“I’m studying,” I replied, returning my attention to the open page of my textbook, pretending to focus.
“Bullshit,” she argued. It sounded like “bullsheet” and I chuckled at her attempt to call me out.
“What?”
“Your face.” She pointed. “You have a funny look.”
“No I don’t,” I denied, raising my book to hide my smile. Emerson’s picture slipped from between the pages and floated down to my bed.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” I grabbed the picture before she could see it.