by Tara Leigh
I wiped at the thin film of condensation coating the glass with a fingertip, unsure what to make of her. “Are you a reporter or a pool shark?”
Her wide mouth opened, releasing a husky laugh. “Neither, actually.”
A ripple of apprehension skimmed over my nerves. I expected a denial of the first occupation, not the second.
My mind immediately thought the worst. Had Quinn Campbell been hired by Jack Lester? It made sense—he preferred to hire others to do his dirty work.
Before I could ask the question, or bolt entirely, Quinn spoke again. “I’m a journalist, not a reporter.”
I blinked at her, confused. “What’s the difference?”
“In your world, it’s reading a script versus acting it out. Anyone can read words on a page. Reporting is just putting them there—presenting information to an audience. Journalists are actors in their own way, digging for the stories, exploiting nuance and examining competing narratives to uncover the facts of what actually happened. We shape our stories with the truth, while also recognizing that the lies and cover-ups are an essential part of the story and should be told, too.” Quinn’s expression brightened as she spoke, exposing a passion I felt when I got behind a microphone.
“I should also say that I write about power imbalance and misogyny. About people who project an image to the world that is completely antithetical to the person they are to others. I use my stories to shine light in dark places and my words to expose darker souls.”
I leaned forward. “You don’t get much darker than Jack Lester.”
“Grab a flashlight and tell me all about it.”
“Where should I start?”
She put her phone on the table, tapping the green button to record our conversation. “Where else? At the beginning.”
Epilogue
Dax
A few weeks after walking in on my sister in Jack Lester’s hotel room, Verity and I flew to New York to talk to Aria. While the twins were at an after-school activity, Verity shared her experiences at the hands of Jack Lester, including Amelia’s involvement.
I offered to stay with them, but I’d been quickly shooed from the room.
It was just as well, since every time I heard what Verity had to deal with, I thought my head would explode.
Instead, I went over to Shane’s place and decided to tell some truths of my own, revealing that I’d been writing songs for years, including the one Verity and I would be performing on our tour. Shane didn’t quite understand why I’d kept it a secret all these years, but he didn’t bust my balls. Too much.
And we’d gone onto his terrace, cracked a few beers, and decided to write one of our own. “Truth.”
It was accurate for both of us. For Verity and Landon, too.
The jury was still out on Jett.
“Truth” was the first single we released in more than a year, and it struck a nerve, rocketing to the top of the charts immediately.
We were kicking off the tour tonight, with “Truth” as our opener.
I hadn’t thought anything would compare to walking back onstage with Shane after the charges against him were dropped.
I was wrong.
Tonight had barely begun and it was already better.
Not just because our sales numbers were completely insane. Or because Shane was looking happier than ever with Delaney by his side. Or because Landon was hitting his drums even harder than before. Or because Jett was, well, Jett.
For me, this tour was as much about Verity Moore as it was about Nothing but Trouble. Verity wasn’t just opening for my band—she’d opened my heart. Split it wide open and dove inside. Made a place for herself before sealing it back up tight. I felt her in every beat.
And I fucking loved it.
I fucking loved her.
Normally I’d be hanging out backstage with the guys before our set, but tonight we were all clustered to the side of the stage, waiting for Verity to kill it out there. Usually, our fans were still streaming in as our opening act was starting, impatiently waiting for us to take over. But not many people in the world weren’t fans of Verity Moore these days.
When Verity decided to work with the police and Quinn to share her story of abuse at the hands of one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood, I was worried. Despite backing her completely, I hadn’t been sure how or if Verity should go public. It had seemed like a hell of a big risk. Jack Lester wouldn’t capitulate easily, and her reputation was far from squeaky clean.
It could have been career suicide.
But thank fuck Verity was braver than I was.
She hadn’t just won the PR battle.
She’d triumphed—personally, professionally—in every way that mattered.
Her previous title—disgraced pop princess—was gone and buried.
Verity Moore had joined the ranks of the #metoo movement as a leader. A rebel with a goddamn cause.
She’d used her voice to rise above victimization. Her name was a battle cry.
#WeDeserveMoore
My True.
I still wasn’t sure that I deserved her…but I did my best to prove it a little more every day.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Quinn mouthing instructions to the photographer who was capturing the tour from Verity’s perspective. After a series of front-page articles had led to Lester’s arrest and a plea deal for Amelia, Verity and Quinn had signed a seven-figure book deal. HBO was producing a documentary on Verity’s career comeback and her emergence as a voice for the silent survivors.
Who would have ever thought I’d find truth when I had surrounded myself with so many lies? Not me.
But I had.
And now the truth was—I was head over fucking balls in love with Verity Moore. Jesus. Our band was falling like dominoes. First Shane, then Landon and me. Jett might even be teetering, too. He’d been following Quinn around like a lost puppy, but so far she had barely looked his way. And from what I could see, it only made him want her more. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
I’d come to terms with a whole lot of truth since meeting Verity. Before her, I thought I needed to avoid relationships with musicians, or anyone in our fake, fucked-up industry. The truth was, I just needed to avoid fake, fucked-up people.
Before Verity, I had stayed away from my family because I thought I’d disappointed them. The truth was, I’d avoided them because I wasn’t willing to own up to my own insecurities.
Whoever said “The truth shall set you free” was a goddamn genius.
Lights swept over the crowd in long beams of color, highlighting raised arms and shaking signs, white letters on dark clothing, smiling faces just waiting for the show to begin. The energy in the arena was a visible, simmering thing. I felt it with each indrawn breath, pinpricks of electricity penetrating my body at a cellular level.
Verity appeared from above, on a zip line that was the kind of expensive special effect unheard of for opening acts.
But Verity Moore wasn’t just any opening act. She was special, in every way.
The fans erupted into applause that went on and on, well after Verity finally descended to the stage in a jumpsuit that was the sexiest goddamn thing I’d ever seen. Lace the same color as her skin, sparkles in all the right places. I knew she’d had to be sewn into it before the show, but damn if I didn’t want to rip it off her.
I was so entranced by her performance, I almost missed my cue to go on. Almost, but Landon was keeping time again, and he didn’t hesitate to jab me in the back with one of his drumsticks. Not that I minded at all. I was just grateful he could hold the damn things again.
And when I turned around, it was impossible not to burst into laughter. Landon Cox, legendary bad boy onstage and off, had his three-month-old daughter strapped to his chest. Wearing an enormous pair of headphones to protect her ears, Luci’s eyes were round as saucers, following the lights streaking inside the arena.
I gave her tiny socked foot a gentle squeeze, mumbled a goodb
ye to Travis and the guys, then pretended to ignore the grins of Delaney and Piper, and even Quinn.
The same person who had come up with the zip line idea had tried to convince me to use some kind of stunt to get me onstage, but I’d shot him down. My two legs had carried me this far, and they knew exactly which direction to head in when it came to Verity.
Only my years of training kept my fingers on the guitar when Verity smiled at me from behind her microphone. The damn girl could light up the night with her smile. And her voice…I had no words for the magic that came from her mouth.
And she was singing my words.
Words I’d written just for her.
My bombshell rebel.
Verity was everything I’d ever wanted, wrapped up in a sexy-as-fuck package. But it was what was inside her that really did me in. Her resilient spirit. Her relentless drive. The way the sight of her made me feel so fucking alive.
Tonight might be the start of our tour, but most importantly, it was one more day in a long line of tomorrows.
Verity
I’ve been dreaming of this night for as long as I could remember. Center stage. Thousands of fans singing along to my songs. A hit album. My name rising up the charts. Control over my career. A name that wasn’t immediately followed by “disgraced.”
That word wasn’t my burden to bear any longer.
Millie and Jack Lester were not just disgraced—they were guilty. Once it came out that I was really seventeen in that video, not eighteen, the charges had gotten even worse. They were both in jail, where they belonged. Where they couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Tonight was the first show of the Nothing but Trouble/Verity Moore tour, and I was happier than I’d ever been.
Lights. Music. Love.
The first two were a given. But the third…
I’d had no idea how good it felt to love. How good it felt to be loved.
Loving Dax. Being loved by Dax. It was magic.
And I don’t mean supernatural, although I couldn’t help but feel that somehow, in some way, my grandmother had a hand in our romance. The definition of magic that rang most true to me was, “A mysterious quality of enchantment.” There was definitely a mysterious quality to Dax Hughes. And I was completely enchanted by him.
Tonight, despite our days of rehearsals and sound check just a few hours ago, when Dax strutted onto the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulders and a smile that shone from his eyes…I was completely under his spell.
From the roar that swept through the arena, so was everyone else.
There were a few people in the audience tonight that were attending their very first Nothing but Trouble show. Dax’s parents, his sister, and his brothers. They were in the front row. His parents looked a little shell-shocked, but Aria and the boys were clearly loving it.
I had sent my mother a VIP pass, along with a note saying that she was always welcome to my shows and back into my life if and when she was willing to speak with me openly and honestly about the past. I was willing to hear her out if she would give me that same respect, too. I had it delivered by messenger to her house in Florida, where she had retreated after Quinn published her first article recounting my experience with Lester.
So far, there had been only silence. But if things changed, I was going to err on the side of forgiveness.
And that first article…I hadn’t thought seeing my story in print would affect me. After all, I’d already lived it. But reading the actual words in black-and-white, especially the stories recounting experiences similar to mine, was absolutely devastating. I got through it with Dax’s help. We spent several days hunkered down in his house, our phones powered off, Wi-Fi disconnected, televisions unplugged. He ordered in food, and we drank cider out of the champagne flutes he had bought for me.
Since then, there had been more days—most good, some bad—all of them made better with the clink of crystal and the press of Dax’s mouth on mine. And now we were here, sharing a stage, sharing our lives. Together.
My throat was almost impossibly tight as I stared into Dax’s eyes, but each lyric managed to escape on time and in tune, words that lingered in the air around us, breathy shards of glimmering possibilities.
Anything was possible.
Everything was possible.
And when the song ended and the lights went dark, I melted into Dax’s embrace. “I fucking love you,” he growled.
We were still mic’d.
The crowd went wild.
Cocooned within Dax’s arms, I felt a peace I’d never known.
* * *
Six Months Later
Dax
“I was wrong.” Verity pushed a cardboard box into my hands.
“Oh yeah? About what?” Flicking an eye at her Audi, I tried not to get my hopes up at the assortment of bags and boxes spilling from the backseat. Our tour finally ended last week, and Verity and I had spent most of it in bed. My bed.
Except that I wanted it to be our bed.
We’d been practically inseparable for the past six months while we were on tour, but this morning she had finally left, saying that she needed to get back to “her place.” I hated the way that sounded, hated the way my house felt without Verity in it.
Because I wanted it to be our home.
She took another box from her car and closed the door by bumping her ass against it, then looked at me with a sheepish smile on her face. “About the apartment. You were right. I don’t need my own place to be my own person.”
I bit down on the grin threatening to swallow my face. “I to—”
“Uh-huh.” She jerked a chin at the front door, bright bits of gold gleaming from her eyes. “How about a little less I told you so and a little more getting naked?”
I took the steps two at a time. “Done.”
Verity
Dax bit down on my shoulder, the graze of his teeth punctuated by the swipe of his tongue. “We need to get up.”
I nestled deeper into the curve of his body. “Mmmm. Just a few more minutes.”
His low chuckle caressed the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending a wave of goose bumps down my spine. “The caterers are going to be here any minute.”
“Really?” I squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Offering to host Shane and Delaney’s post-wedding brunch had seemed like a great idea—but I hadn’t factored in partying until two a.m. at their wedding, or that the caterers would want to begin setting up at the crack of dawn. “How about we change it to a lunch? Do you think anyone would mind?”
“Hmmm.” Dax lowered the sheet, kissing the wing of my shoulder blade, the curve of my hip bone. “Well, Shane and Delaney might have an issue with that, seeing as their flight is this afternoon. And you know how Piper is with Luci’s naptime.”
I groaned. Piper was an absolutely incredible mother, but she was as regimented about her daughter’s nap schedule as a four-star general planning for war. I rolled over in Dax’s arms, knowing he did a much better job of waking me up than any amount of caffeine. “You win. I’m up.”
The corners of his lips lifted as he kissed the tip of my nose. “Yeah. Me too.”
The double ring of the landline came just as Dax rolled over me, his forearms bracing most of his weight. “Damn it.” His head dropped, his hair tickling my neck for a moment before he grabbed for the phone, telling the guard to send the caterers through. “I’ll let them in and meet you in the shower.”
He threw on track pants and a T-shirt, disappearing behind the door as I stretched beneath the sheet. Finally agreeing to move in with Dax was the best decision I’d ever made. There was nowhere else I’d rather be, no one else I’d rather be with.
I thought about the day I came back to L.A., not knowing if I would ever get another chance in this town. Not knowing if I had a single friend or ally.
Everything about my life was different now, in the best of ways.
Dax joined me in the bathroom a few minutes later. A round of hot, steamy shower sex made
up for what we didn’t have in bed earlier.
The rest of the morning passed quickly. I spent most of it upstairs, unpacking the boxes I had brought over from my apartment last week. Piper arrived early, with Landon and Luci. I swiped the gorgeous nine-month-old from her father’s arms, pressing a kiss into her shock of white-blond hair. “Oooh, I’ve missed you, Luci girl,” I cooed.
She giggled, clapping her chubby hands on either side of my face and smiling up at me.
“Well, hello to you, too, Verity.” Landon’s rich baritone was filled with teasing as he stepped inside.
“Sorry,” I said, lightly kissing his cheek. “Your gorgeous baby is very distracting.”
“Where did—”
“Right here,” Piper called from farther inside the house. I spun around, not even realizing she’d walked past me.
She was already downstairs, hanging up a sign reading: CONGRATULATIONS, MR. & MRS. HAWTHORNE! There was an enormous canvas bag next to her, too, no doubt more decorations. Piper hadn’t missed a beat since having Luci. She was even more organized than ever…and blissfully in love with her husband and daughter. From the sappy expression on Landon’s face, the feeling was entirely mutual.
Jett and Quinn were the next to arrive. They had had a tumultuous relationship while we were on tour, but things had seemed to even out for them. Dax said he’d never seen Jett in better spirits. I let Quinn steal Luci from me, but only because I realized that I’d forgotten to unpack the champagne flutes I wanted to use for our first toast to the newly married couple.
The glasses Dax had found at the estate sale in Glendale. I had never had a reason to unpack the rest of the set, until today.
Keeping out of the way of the caterers, I retrieved the white box from the bottom of the buffet that ran along the wall between the kitchen and the door to the deck. It was only after I unrolled each individual champagne flute from its wad of Bubble Wrap that I noticed the white envelope taped to the bottom of the box.