by Vicki James
Presley’s eyes sparkled with amusement as my enthusiasm grew.
“And did you also know that Summer of ‘69 isn’t actually about the summer of 1969?”
“No?”
“Nope. It’s about a full summer of Bryan and this chick getting into the sixty-nine position and having at it like two topsy-turvy bunny rabbits, never stopping or coming up for air.”
“No way.” Presley frowned, his grin growing bigger.
“I swear to you. Listen to the end of the song. Some people think it says ‘me and my baby in ‘69’ but it doesn’t, not quite. It says ‘me and my baby in a ‘69.”
“Sounds like a damn good way to spend a summer.”
“Right?” I chuckled. “The song was originally meant to be called Best Days of My Life, but then they thought the ‘69 thing was catchier, so it all got shook up and—”
“Why do you love him so much?” Presley interrupted me, his face turning thoughtful again. “I want to know. I want to know what makes you love someone like that, so fully.”
I smiled softly, wishing he knew how Bryan Adams didn’t even come close to the way I felt about him.
“It’s a shit story really,” I warned.
“Tell me.”
“My mum used to work in a working men’s club. She was a barmaid for years. I think she did it for the attention more than anything. She loved the way the men flirted with her whenever she pulled a pint and the fact that she could get away with wearing low cut tops and short-short skirts without having to give an excuse for it. Dad was always there with her. He said he was there to socialise with his friends, but I knew he was secretly waiting for the day when some stud would walk up to the bar and turn Mum’s head. That was less likely to happen if he was keeping his eye on her.”
“He doesn’t trust her?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Mum’s beautiful. Really beautiful. Like… her eyes alone could sell snow to the Eskimos. She’s got this sparkle about her that you can’t fake or buy. She’s got this natural charm when she has an audience, even if that audience is made up of one. Most people fall for it—flock to it. Dad isn’t as much of an extrovert as her; not naturally, anyway. I think he’s always felt like he was punching above his weight, so he spent his whole life adoring her, making sure she felt special every day in case someone else came along and tried to give her something he’d never bothered to give.”
“Waiting for something to go wrong? That doesn’t sound like a good way to live,” Presley muttered. “She wouldn’t be with him if she didn’t want to be.”
“Maybe not. But some people just aren’t born with the same confidence as others, Presley. He loves her—he’s just lost himself in the process. He’s become a slave to her because he doesn’t think he deserves her.”
“Sounds tragic.”
I bounced both brows. “You make your own decisions in life. No one else, right?”
“And what does this have to do with Bryan Adams?”
“Well…” I sighed. “My parents were always so busy drowning in each other that me and my brother were left on the outskirts. We never really got a look in or a lot of attention. Not until there was music playing. It was always on in the house, in the club, in the car. It was the only time we felt like a family, all singing along together, forgetting our issues and just letting the music speak for us. Funny how instruments and lyrics can do that—cut through the tension and bring people closer. I remember the first time I saw Mum and Dad dancing at the club one night, right after she’d finished work. Freddie and I were always there—we were raised by two parents and half a community of men who smoked, and women who’d been around the block a bit. But that night, I think it was Mum and Dad’s anniversary, the DJ played Bryan Adams Everything I Do, I Do It for You. They both got up and danced to it, and I swear to you, I’ve never seen two people looking more in love. Ever. Dad looked relaxed, and Mum looked adored and happy. They were on that dance floor, and nobody else existed to them. Not me. Not Freddie. None of the customers. There wasn’t a life outside of their bubble and Bryan Adams’ voice. There was a woman sitting next to me that night, watching them. I don’t even remember her name. But she leaned in, and she sort of sighed wistfully and said, ‘You can always count on Bryan to say the things the rest of us can’t. That’s true talent.’”
Presley blinked and waited for me to go on, invested in my story, my life, in who I was.
“That night, I went home and played every track I could find of his over and over again. I didn’t just listen to the music. I listened to the words. The actual words. And that woman was right. He tells stories with his songs, and even the fast ones just break me wide open sometimes. It was then that I realised music could give me everything I’d ever needed. Every time I felt something I didn’t understand, I’d go through track after track of his and search for what I was feeling. On the rare occasion I couldn’t find it, I’d move on to Bon fucking Jovi…” I grinned. “And if that didn’t cut it, I’d go through every song from the eighties, nineties, and noughties, I could find.”
Presley exhaled slowly, pressing his cheek harder against the backseat. “Do you have any idea at all how special you are?”
My shy smile grew bigger. “Want me to talk about Bon Jovi now?”
He laughed lazily, bringing a hand to my waist and tugging me impossibly closer, considering the seatbelts that were holding us both in place. His eyes searched mine again, looking for something he was struggling to find. His lips parted, and he leaned closer. I braced myself for another of his intoxicating kisses, but it never came. The door behind him was flung open, and Rhett Ryan’s head poked through as he held onto the car.
I glanced around, not even aware that we’d stopped.
“Shit, did I miss you guys screwing?”
Presley fell back against the seat, releasing me, and I hated it instantly.
“Fuck off, Rhett,” Presley grumbled.
Rhett’s eyes were locked on mine, the seductive smile he’d clearly rehearsed breaking free. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, hasn’t he, sweetheart?”
“This one?” I asked, intentionally holding up my middle finger to him.
Rhett laughed and smacked Presley on the shoulder. “Pass her to me when you’ve finished with her.”
The door was slammed shut before either one of us could react.
Presley turned to me, his unspoken apology hidden in the slight crease of his eyes and narrowing of his mouth.
“It’s fine,” I assured him, shaking my head.
“It’s anything but fine. I’m gonna fucking kill Rhett.”
Just like that, I’d lost the moment with him to the chaos, and the door was flung open again where two men with clipboards in their hands and lanyards around their necks started ushering Presley out of the car, pointing him in the direction of a fire exit that was being used as an entrance. He glanced over his shoulder to find me, but there were suddenly too many people in our way. When I stepped out of the car, I thought about staying where I was as I watched him drift farther and farther away. Presley’s eyes found mine, and I could see him mouthing something to the man who had his hand pressed into his back. The man kept pushing him along, and suddenly Presley couldn’t catch a breath before he was surrounded by four other people who were each talking to him at once.
I smiled a sad smile, raised my hand in the air and wiggled my fingers to wave him off. Presley ducked under someone’s arm, spun around on his feet and began to push back against the small crowd around him. They parted and gave way instantly, each one taken aback by his determination and the angry words he was throwing around without a care in the world.
He was marching back to the car, his jacket flapping behind him as he strode angrily towards it and pushed his hair away from his face. When he looked up and saw me, he reached out for my hand.
I took it, unable to stop the exhilarated smile that took over as I looked up at him.
“Did you know Bryan Adams
was a good friend of Amy Winehouse, helping her detox when she hit an all-time low in 2007?” he asked me through panting breaths.
My brows rose in surprise. I stared at him, speechless.
“Be my Bryan,” he whispered. “Come and save me from this mess.”
I blinked and nodded slowly. Presley turned to lead me through the madness, and I didn’t miss the way the sea of people around me were wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring right at me.
Or the way a camera flashed in my face before it was too late for me to hide.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julia was trying to organise the guys into a room for the press interviews. Banners of their new album lined the walls, with five stools to one side and a chair for each interchanging interviewer opposite them.
“I want her in the room,” Presley demanded, but the answer was no.
Presley argued with Julia about it, his voice becoming progressively louder until I intervened, stepping between them both, more to save Julia than my feisty drummer boy.
Pressing my hands on his chest, I waited until he looked down into my eyes and took a breath.
“Listen to you, little diva,” I chastised softly. “Fame has made you bossy.”
Julia blew out an exasperated breath behind me, but Presley’s scowl only grew deeper.
“You don’t have to panic,” I assured him. “I’m not leaving today, I promise. This has been a huge whirlwind of a day, and I could use an hour to myself to collect my thoughts, anyway. I need to call Bourbon and explain why I won’t be in work tonight after already letting him down so many times this week. I need to make sure Elle can cover some shifts, as well as check in with Molly and apologise for running out on her last night. I could also do with calling my parents.”
“Your parents?” He wrinkled his nose, and it only made him look more adorable.
I visibly cringed at the thought of having to call my mum and dad, but I also knew how the press worked. If it had only taken a matter of hours for Presley’s face to appear on every news channel and blog page after he hit that guy, I could only imagine how quickly my face was going to be splashed across the Internet. I tried really hard to suppress the rising panic inside of me.
“I guess I need to tell the people in my world who I plan on being with now that this big superstar has told me I can’t ever leave him.”
His smile was only fleeting before he closed the gap between us and crushed his lips to mine. Lord, I would never tire of that first moment of contact. The taste, the smoothness, the urgency—all of them combined to make it the thing I’d seek out for the rest of my life, even when I was old, grey, and my body had become worn.
When he pulled away, he rested his lips against my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, you will.”
Presley backed up and searched my eyes, his mouth opening to say something before he thought better of it, shook his head, and peeled himself away from me. Then he was out of sight, being pushed through a door, which was quickly closed on me and the rest of the press in the main part of the hotel suite we were in.
“Thank you for that,” Julia said in a rush of exasperated breath. “Make yourself at home. There’s a private, quieter room down the corridor on the right if you need it. No one will disturb you. It also has a mini bar.”
I didn’t have time to thank her before she, too, walked away and pushed through the door where the interviews were taking place.
With one look around, I saw all the judgemental and questioning faces of strangers staring back at me. Right. Yeah. To the quiet room.
Nobody stopped to question me since I had walked in holding Presley’s hand, and because I had a lanyard granting me access-all-areas hanging around my neck. When I slipped into the room, I made my way to the king size bed, brushed my hand over the perfectly crisp duvet, and I sank into the edge of it, bouncing my bum up and down just a few times before I reached into my back pocket for my phone.
First call: Molly.
She was understanding, and a little bit giddy when she realised where I currently was.
“And there’s free booze?”
“This is the music industry.” I chuckled. “Alcohol is more popular than oxygen around here.”
“Open the mini bar. Tell me what’s in there.”
“I’ve just spent the night and day with Presley West, rolling around in the sheets, and that’s all you want to know?”
“Oh, hell no. But I can hear that happiness in your voice, so I think I can guess how that story goes. Big dick. Big O. Big fucking smile making your cheeks ache. I get it, but I want you to give me the full debrief when we’re face-to-face. That way, I can see the way he makes your eyes sparkle when you talk about him and his legendary wanger.”
“I love you.” I sighed softly.
That was why I adored her so much. After telling her to be safe, and assuring her I’d call her later, I ended the call and searched through my phone for Bourbon’s name.
I tried him three times, but each time it rang out and went through to his voicemail. It wasn’t unusual for him to miss my calls. When he was in the cellar, his signal was rubbish. If he was busy in the bar or preoccupied with Felicity, that phone would be on silent, sitting in the back pocket of his blue jeans. When the call clicked through to the voicemail for the third time, I decided to leave a message.
“Hey, boss. I know you’re not ignoring me because you’re mad at me for leaving the place in the hands of Elle last night, right? I had an emergency… one of the, erm, heart.” I swallowed, realising how cheesy that sounded, and I scrunched up my nose in embarrassment. “In all the time I’ve worked for and adored you, I’ve never really asked for much time off or many favours, and I get that this is out of the blue, but I really need a few days away from Hollings Hill, B. I mean… I really need them. You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was an emergency, and I know you rely on me for everything, but…” I stopped and let out a deflated breath. “I’m scared if I don’t end up taking these next few days for myself, I’ll end up regretting it for the rest of my life. Call me when you get this. I love you.”
Guilt was a shitty emotion to harbour. I hated the way it grated the surface of your skin to feel ashamed about putting yourself before the people you loved, but if you didn’t do that occasionally, how the hell could you love yourself the way you deserved to be loved?
Rubbing a hand over my forehead, I looked for the next number in my phone.
Dad.
I hit call.
“What’s up?” he answered roughly, no greeting or affection in his tone, just an urgent need to know why I was calling him, and if I’d landed him in any shit the way Freddie always seemed to do.
“Hey, Dad,” I answered warmly anyway.
“Tess.”
“I have something I need to talk to you and Mum about. Is she there?”
He took a moment’s pause before he cleared his throat. “Yep.”
“Can you put me on speaker phone?”
He did as I asked, and I heard Mum shuffling closer.
“Tessa, my baby!” she cooed. Cooed. My mother. What the hell? I scowled immediately, wondering if she was being sarcastic or if she was genuinely happy to hear from me. It had been a while, I guess. I tended to live my own life now, in my own apartment, working my own job, not really bothering with their world unless Freddie called me, or it was one of their birthdays.
“Uh… hey, Mum.”
“Where are you?” she asked, full of enthusiasm. I heard Dad groan in the background. “Freddie is phoning everyone, telling them what’s going on.”
“Going on? What do you mean?”
“Darling, apparently your face is all over the Internet. Freddie is tagging you and his friends in a picture of you and that handsome drummer holding hands this evening.”
“This evening!” I cried. “That was… that was barely even an hour ago. Oh my God. Oh shit. Oh…”
“So, it is true!” she squealed, and I hea
rd the way she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Tessa, this is amazing news. You’re going to be famous, which means we’re going to be famous, which means we’ll have—”
“Enough!” Dad barked.
“But, Seth—”
“I said enough, Lisa. Nobody around here is getting famous; do you hear me? We don’t need any more attention bringing on this family. We do not need anyone lingering around here, trying to disrupt our way of life.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said through a soft giggle of excitement, while all I could do was stare at the carpet beneath my feet and forget how to blink.
How had that picture been leaked so quickly? Who had taken it? Was it a fan? The press? Fuck… Just fuck social media and all its constant, intrusive bullshit.
Dad already sounded angry, probably in a panic that Mum was going to get her head turned before anyone even knew who they really were. Mum sounded genuinely thrilled for the first time in my existence. She hadn’t even been this enthusiastic about me and my life when I told them I was moving out of their home.
I closed my eyes and rested my free hand on my forehead.
“Guys?” I called, but they were bickering among themselves now, the rest of the world fading out of Lisa and Seth’s mind—just the two of them alone again, because really, no one else’s voice ever mattered. “Guys? Guys? Guys!” I shouted, and that seemed to catch their attention. “Listen to me. You obviously know who I’m with right now, and I can assure you, it’s brand new to me, too. I don’t know what the hell is going on or how to even think about handling it, but I need you to promise me one thing. One thing. That’s all I’m asking.”
“What is it, Tessa?” Mum asked.
“Do not speak to anyone about me or our family. Nobody. Not even people you think you can trust. And tell Freddie he has to stay silent, too. Because if you speak or say anything out of turn, this is going to turn into a real shitstorm. Every bit of past you want to stay down will be dragged up for the world to see. Think about that. Think about who you are and the benefits you’ve been receiving your whole life because you’ve somehow managed to stay under the radar. All of that could go, and Dad could get in serious trouble.”