One More Song

by Seabrook, C. M.

  Granger frowns. “I don’t mind, I can give her a lift.”

  “We’re headed to the same place,” I say. “I really don’t mind.”

  “Where is she?” Millie asks.

  “Outside, by the car.” I’m gonna keep this short and simple. Won’t mention that I nearly fucked her against the brick wall outside, looking out at the graveyard, it would have been dark and dirty. Wrong.

  I’m glad we stopped but hell, I wanted her to sink down on my thick cock and have her hold on to me for dear life. I wanted to look in her eyes as she came.

  My muse and my penance.

  The thought is fucked up, even I know that. She never asked to be my Hail Mary and she sure as hell deserves more than me.

  “Let me just text her real quick,” Millie says.

  “Man,” Granger laughs. “Who would have thought a rock star would have stolen a girl out from under me?”

  I lift my eyebrows. Did he seriously think he had an actual shot with Ember? But at least he isn’t picking a fight.

  A moment later, Millie reads a message on her phone screen. “She says she wants Ash to take her home. That she threw up. Yikes.” Then looking up at me, she twists her lips. “Look, no offense, but are you sure you can handle getting a drunk girl home in one piece?”

  The words hit hard. Ember may not hold my past against me - because she doesn’t know anything about it.

  But Millie, Granger, and Keith? They know who I am. They’ve read the bad parts of what I’ve done.

  They don’t trust me.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re totally cool,” Millie says, looking over at her husband and then Granger. “But I’m going to take her home.”

  “You’ve had how many shots?” I ask.

  She groans. “Fuck, we were gonna Uber home tonight.”

  “I’m sober,” I tell her. “And I’m clean. And I won’t touch her, I swear.” I hate that I have to stand here in this dive bar and defend myself, but I do. These people only know the bad things about me, what they’ve read in tabloids.

  “Will you please text me when you get her in bed?” Millie asks.

  I give her my word, get a bottle of water from the bartender, and then head toward the exit. When I step back outside, the cool night air hits me, clearing my head. I may want to run my hands over Ember’s bare body, but now is not the time.

  Right now, I need to get her home, tuck her into bed.

  Taking her hand, I help her stand, her heels sinking in the gravel.

  “Drink this,” I tell her, handing her the water bottle.

  She takes it from me and finishes half the bottle. Then I wrap an arm around her and walk her to my Escalade. I’m not sure how the guys are getting back, but right now all I care about is Ember.

  The parking lot is packed now. Looks like the Boneyard is the place everyone in Stanton heads to on Friday nights.

  But I don’t want to spend any more time in this place. Too many nights were already wasted at shitty bars during the time I was working toward breaking out as a band. Now, fuck, I don’t know what I want. But with Ember tucked under my arm, I know that right now, I want her.

  * * *

  It’s the first time I’ve been in her bedroom. It’s not what I expected. At all. I don’t know what I was picturing, but it’s not until I turn my back as she slips off her dress and pulls on her oversized t-shirt, that I realize I actually know very little about her.

  There’s a big desk under a large window, covered in colored pencils and charcoal. Sketches cover the table, vivid greens and bright bursts of color coat the pages. Everything she has drawn is of plants. Suddenly I remember her carrying potted succulents into the house one afternoon. She whisked them upstairs, silently, and I never thought of them again. Now I see the greenery sitting on the desk, and her drawing of them beside it.

  Ember is an artist.

  There’s a small smile on my face as she whispers, “Come tuck me in.”

  “You’re so talented,” I tell her as she pulls the covers up over her.

  “Shush,” she says. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, sitting next to her on the big bed. It’s big enough for two.

  “I mean it,” I say. “I wondered what you were doing all alone in your room so often.”

  “What did you suppose I was doing?” she asks, licking her lips and reaching for me.

  Her eyes open. She sees me. And there’s a hint of the old fear there.

  “My guesses were much dirtier than drawings of houseplants.” I want to kiss her so damn bad. But I promised Millie I wouldn’t touch her. But what if she touches me?

  “Tell me.” Her eyebrows lift. “Tell me what dirty things you imagined.”

  It would be so easy to take this night in the direction my cock craves. “You’re tired,” I say. “And half-drunk.”

  She blinks, sleepily and I know even if part of her wants us to go all-in tonight, she wouldn’t remember it in the morning, and I would. I stand, knowing right from wrong.

  “Stay with me,” she says. “Please.”

  I don’t want to tell her no. It looks like she needs someone to tell her yes.

  Yes. Everything you want, everything you need, it’s yours, Ember. Yes.

  I want to be that person for her even if I haven’t the slightest idea of what it means.

  And I also know, as I slip off my shoes and move to the other side of the bed, intentionally lying down on top of the coverlet, not under it, that in the morning this spell she’s under will break.

  She will remember that her friends gushed over me and Synn and Saint. She will remember, even in her hazy-memory of the night before, that someone mentioned we were famous.

  She will google me.

  Learn the truth.

  Fuck.

  I’m not ready to say goodbye.

  I wrap an arm around her.

  And instead, I simply say goodnight.

  Chapter Nine

  Ember

  As the early morning light filters through my bedroom window, I startle. There is a man in my bed. A very handsome man.

  Ash.

  Oh shit. Did I sleep with him? I look under the blanket, my panties and t-shirt are on. And after I run a hand over my eyes, I realize he is still very dressed. And spooning me.

  I bite my lip, squeeze my eyes shut. Ash is in my bed. How in the hell did that happen? And what else happened last night?

  Rolling out of the bed, I reach for my terrycloth bathrobe and slide my feet into slippers, closing the blinds before slipping into the hallway. I close the door and exhale. It’s been a long ass time since there was a man in my bed.

  Taking a minute in the hallway bathroom, I wash my face, take three pain relievers, and look at myself in the mirror. God, I haven’t been hungover in about as long as I haven’t been laid.

  My stomach rumbles, roars, really, and I decide a big, greasy breakfast is in order. But when I get to the kitchen, I see Synn, Saint, and Dusky are already working on bacon and eggs. There’s a glass pitcher of what looks like a Bloody Mary mix on the counter, and French toast is on a griddle.

  “Wow,” I say, taking in the spread. “This is quite the feast.”

  Dusky hands me a Bloody Mary, celery stick and all. “Hair of the dog, thought ye might need it.”

  I take a sip. It’s perfectly spicy. “Why all this fuss?” I ask. “No offense, but none of you have seemed much like the help-in-the-kitchen type over the last few days.”

  The guys share a look that I don’t understand. “Maybe ye oughta take a seat,” Dusky says.

  I do as he asks as they dish up plates of food, all of us sitting at the kitchen table. I decide to be patient, wait for them to talk. My headache is fading, and I want it to stay that way. But I have a feeling that whatever is going to come next isn’t going to be good.

  We eat in silence, and it grows more awkward by the minute. Admittedly the food is amazing. And exactly what my hang-over needed. Sugary-sweet bread, covered in syrup, hot
bacon, and extra cheesy eggs. When Dusky hands me a mug of piping hot coffee, a smile spreads across my face. Whatever they are preparing me for seems worth it. No one has made me breakfast since I was a little girl.

  When we are nearly finished, Synn clears his throat. “We know Ash stayed in your room last night.”

  I frown. This was not what I was expecting.

  “And we know things might start getting messy around here,” Saint adds. “So we were hoping the four of us could have a little heart to heart before that happens.”

  “Nothing happened between Ash and me.” I break a piece of bacon in half, and I wince when I remember the two of us outside the Boneyard, my back against the wall. My body was so willing to be claimed by the man who is all wrong for me.

  But we didn’t sleep together. Even if I wanted it, he stopped before it got out of hand, and for that, I’m grateful - drunk sex is rarely a good idea.

  However, my body still knows what it wants. Ash is not out of my system yet.

  “And even if we had, it’s none of your business,” I continue, shaking my head. “I’m honestly shocked you’d even mention it.”

  “It is our business, though, Ember,” Synn says, his eyes even darker than normal. “We may be a rock band, but we’re also a family. And we need to look out for one another.”

  “This is messed up on so many levels.” I roll my eyes at their audacity. “This is my home. I can have whoever I want in my bed. You aren’t in charge of me, or of Ash for that matter.”

  “Not directly, no,” Dusky says. “But Ash needs to stick to the plan. And you, love, ye aren’t the plan.”

  “And what is the plan exactly? Just so we’re crystal clear?” I ask.

  “The plan is we write a dozen songs, Maryll approves them, and we go to the studio. The plan is for Ash to keep his dick in his pants long enough for us to make an album,” Synn says sharply.

  “Duly noted, brother,” Ash says from the doorway. Our heads spin toward him and I see a weight in his eyes I haven’t seen before.

  Who is this man?

  “You know it’s true,” Saint says, dropping his head in his hands. “We’re worried about you.”

  “So worried you thought you’d seduce Ember with your famous French toast and then kindly tell her to back off?”

  Synn, Saint, and Dusky smirk knowing. “Yeah, pretty much,” Synn says. “What’s the alternative? Tell Maryll what you’re up to and have her here on the first flight from L.A., breathing fire down all our backs?”

  “Fair enough,” Ash says. He takes it in stride, grabbing a piece of bacon from the plate and leaning against the kitchen island. “So did it work?” he asks me.

  “Did what work?” I ask, my words tight, my throat dry. Somehow in the space of a morning, everything feels like it’s slipping away. A person I didn’t even have is already leaving me.

  “Did they scare you off?” Ash asks, his voice is detached as if he’s already let me go. What does it say about me if I admit that I wanted him to hold on?

  “I told you before, you know nothing about me.” I push away from the table, my heart hurting when it’s my head that should be throbbing. Moving down the hall, I push open the bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as it can go.

  Dropping my clothes, I step under the blaze and close my eyes. Grateful that Cadence is with Mitch right now because she doesn’t need to see me like this. Crying over whatever the hell just happened in my grandma’s kitchen.

  The shower helps, but my thoughts are still a jumbled mess. I take my time shaving my legs, exfoliating my body - in no rush to step back into the fray. I can hear them, shouting in the kitchen. It sounds like a fight has been brewing long before they came here.

  This isn’t about me.

  It’s about Ash.

  I knew he was a bad idea. But just how bad?

  I turn off the shower and let the bathtub fill. Before sinking into it, I fish my phone from the pocket of my bathrobe. The hot water covers me as I pull up a search engine.

  I type in their names: Ash Saint Synn and Dusky.

  What comes up makes me gasp and drop my phone in the water.

  Shit.

  I knew musicians were bad news, but these guys are no musicians.

  These guys are rock stars.

  They’re Absinthe.

  Chapter Ten

  Ash

  The fight has been brewing for months. Ever since the video leaked, three women and me, in a hotel room, coke on the table and all of us high as a fucking kite. Rock stars get reputations for a reason. Me? I’m the mother fucking poster boy.

  I could give the guys my excuses. My dad’s suicide hit me in a bad way and my ma never gave me boundaries. My heart was empty, I was trying to fill the void, the blackness swallowing me whole. We dropped an album that everyone seemed to think was total shit and I went on a bender. The rest is history.

  But Synn, Dusky, and Saint deserve more than my excuses. In the end, I messed up and they are the ones who paid the price.

  “Are you just hoping we forget it ever happened?” Saint asks. “Like if we go long enough without talking about it, everyone will just forget?”

  “What do you want me to say?” I ask, running a hand through my hair. Yes, I want to fix things with them, but another part of me - a big part of me - is thinking about Ember right now, in the bathroom. Probably looking us up on her phone and figuring out the truth of what I am.

  A goddamn disaster.

  “This is pointless,” Synn says. “You aren’t even here, are you? I know you, Ash. You’re thinking about her, not us. And that’s the fucking problem. This band doesn’t matter to you, not the way it matters to us.”

  “That’s not true, who wrote the first two fucking songs for the album? I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Physically? Sure.” Synn scoffs, his voice rough. “But those songs are about Ember. And we all know it. And there is only one place this is headed.”

  “How many times do you want me to fucking apologize for the video?” I shout.

  Dusky, who has been quiet, looks up. “Once would be nice.”

  The sentence falls down on the room, hard.

  It’s a gut punch and we all know it. Did I really never apologize for what I did? I try to think about what happened in the weeks after the video dropped. I went back to my ma’s place, hid out until Maryll gave us a plan. Then I came here.

  I lift my hands, knowing I’m exactly the guy they think I am. A coward. A selfish prick. I don’t deserve them and I sure as hell don’t deserve Ember.

  “I get it. I’m an even bigger ass than I thought.”

  The guys don’t disagree, and maybe that’s for the best. At least we all know where we stand.

  “Just tell me what you want from me, and I’ll do it,” I say, trying so damn hard to not sound as weak as I feel. “I mean it.”

  Synn smirks, unsatisfied. “You could start by getting up by eight and actually practicing with us.”

  I nod, tightly. “Understood.” Synn is not letting me off the hook, and honestly, I realize now, it’s for the best.

  I’m gonna keep my head down, my cock in my pants, and will do my fucking job. At this point, I’ve already let everyone down. This is rock bottom. Only thing to do is climb back up to the top.

  “We’re taking today off,” Saint says, apparently they decided this without me. “But tomorrow, we’re hitting it hard. We have three months to get this right. And I want another platinum album.”

  The conversation ends on that note, and I take a cup of coffee, wanting to be anywhere but their line of vision.

  I step into the hallway, headed for the staircase, and Ember is there, her petite figure wrapped in a towel, wet hair and wide eyes. Looking vulnerable, and wary of me.

  Fuck.

  “Sorry,” I say, unable to look away. Even now, wanting her. Needing her.

  “For what?” she asks softly.

  I scoff, drop my head. “For everything, Ember. ”


  She lets out a shaky breath, and says, “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  “So you’re not kicking us out?”

  Her gaze holds mine and for a split second I think she’s considering it, but then she shakes her head. “No. I need the money. We just...” She swallows, then continues. “We have to remember what this is.”

  I take a step toward her. “And what exactly is this?”

  “A business arrangement,” she says, taking a step away from me.

  “You know it’s more than that.”

  She shakes her head, but I can see the fight in her eyes, and her words are almost a whisper when she says, “It’s what it has to be.”

  “Right,” I mutter, dragging my fingers through my hair, and knowing that’s what it should have been all along.

  But as she walks away, and her bedroom door shuts behind her, that asshole inside of me is already pacing, hungry and greedy and wanting so much more.

  * * *

  By the next morning, all of us seem to be moving on. We took what felt like a twenty-four-hour vow of silence, but wake on Sunday ready to move forward. When I passed the guys in the living room where they were drinking coffee, they were friendly.

  They were talking about some guys we knew out in Philly, who just got signed with our same label. Dusty’s mom is talking about making a visit to the states. Regular stuff, stuff that usually wouldn’t even register with me because it’s so ordinary. But right now, the normal conversation feels like a miracle I don’t deserve.

  Just how much of my life have I been taking for granted?

  “Coffee?” Ember asks as I walk into the sunny kitchen, ten minutes to eight. I can eat breakfast before the band starts working and for once I will be on time.

  “Sure, thanks,” I say, not wanting to make things worse for her. I practically fucked her outside the Boneyard - proving to her I am exactly the kind of man she must believe me to be. Reckless. Wild. Trouble.