Just Sing: An Enemies-to-Lovers Rock Star Romance (Just 5 Guys Book 1)

by Selena

  He kissed me one last time before Nash grabbed his arm and steered him to the first people he needed to greet. I could hear Nash’s rapid-fire instructions, reminding him who he was meeting and what he was supposed to say to them.

  My attention was diverted by the girl emerging from the hallway at last. It had taken her long enough. I replayed Steve’s words and wondered if she’d stopped to pee in the hallway or something equally weird. One thing I’d learned in my short time on tour—fans were batshit crazy.

  The girl blew by me without so much as a glance. She wasn’t the groupie type. She looked more like a druggie, with a dirty, tattered trench coat, straggly dark hair, and pasty skin with a few breakouts that looked raw and angry, as if she picked at them too often. Suddenly I was reminded of crazed fans who attacked singers, and I leapt off the stool and followed the girl, who was blowing through the crowd with no regard for anyone she pushed out of her way.

  “Hey,” I said, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around. I wasn’t about to let some psycho pull a knife on my man.

  “Fuck off, lady,” the girl said, jerking her arm away. When her coat swung open, she wasn’t carrying a weapon at all. She was just a bony, sickly-looking pregnant girl who couldn’t have been much more than a teenager.

  “Brody’s meeting with some fans,” I said with measured calm and a reassuring smile. But I didn’t take my hand from the girl’s shoulder. “Are you here for an autograph? He’d be happy to sign something for your baby boy or girl. He’ll even autograph your belly if you want.”

  I found it hysterical how uncomfortable Brody got when the pregnant ones requested a signed belly, and I couldn’t help but enjoy watching him squirm.

  “An autograph?” the unkempt girl scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t want an autograph.”

  “Hey,” Brody said, sliding up beside her. “Everything okay?”

  “No, obviously, it’s not,” the girl said, gesturing at her belly. “I need some money.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

  “No, you moron, I don’t need a handout. I need you to take care of this. This is your fault, Brody Villines.” She snarled his name like it hurt her to say it. “This is your baby.”

  twenty-four

  Brody

  I stared at the girl for a full ten seconds, unable to speak. A hundred things were trying to burst out of my mouth at once. I knew for damn sure I’d never fucked this girl. She looked like shit. She wasn’t even the kind of girl who came to my shows. This chick was more grunge than pop, the furthest thing from a baby-doll I could imagine, with not an inch of skin showing anywhere from the neck down and not a trace of makeup on her pale face.

  She stared at me expectantly with these sullen, expectant eyes.

  Violet eyes.

  FUCK.

  “Brody, I need you to come—.” Before Nash could finish his sentence, I spun on him.

  “Get out!” I screamed. “Get the fuck out. Everybody, get out. Get out! The show is over, get the fuck out of here.”

  Nash took a step back, looking as speechless as I had been a minute before. When I got stressed, I cussed at people, I saw a shrink, I hid in my dressing room and refused to come out. Throwing a tantrum backstage was not my style. That was more Jace’s style. I was the holding-shit-in type, not the meltdown type.

  To his credit, Nash recovered in a record two seconds, grabbed my elbow and shoved me roughly toward my dressing room. “Calm the fuck down,” he barked. “You don’t yell at your fans, Brody-boy.”

  “Get them out,” I growled, planting my feet and refusing to budge. “I need you to get them all out of here now.”

  “All right, everybody, show’s over,” Nash said, turning to the backstage area, where the fans had clustered to stare uneasily at me. Nash blocked me with his body as if he were making sure I didn’t lunge out and attack someone. “Brody’s not taking selfies tonight. Sorry to disappoint you. See this fine lady on your way out and she’ll get you a free ticket with backstage passes for the next show.” He pointed to Stacy, who smiled her best publicity smile and gestured for them to follow her. A few of the girls were squealing to each other in delight and jumping up and down, while a few others were grumbling because they couldn’t make the trip.

  Security ushered them out after Stacy. Steve appeared and looked around, then nodded to where Laney was standing with the pregnant chick. Before I could communicate my intent, one of the beefy security guys reached the girls.

  “Don’t you fucking touch me,” the girl warned, yanking her arm away.

  What was her name? Had I ever known it?

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “And I’m going to have to ask you to go fuck yourself. I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”

  It probably wasn’t my baby. It couldn’t be. I always wore a condom.

  Didn’t I?

  “No selfies tonight, ma’am.”

  “Selfies? What the fuck is wrong with you people? I’m not after a selfie, I’m—.”

  “She stays,” I said, stepping between her and the security guy. “They both stay.”

  With one look from Laney, I knew she understood. She understood that I’d fucked this girl, and that it really might be my baby. Because if I hadn’t, I would have thrown her out like the psycho she was.

  I couldn’t meet Laney’s gaze again.

  “Come back to the dressing room,” I said quietly. “My tour bus isn’t here.”

  Discarded clothes from the night’s performances lay scattered across the floor of the dressing room. It was small and unglamorous, barely more than a closet. When I had to do quick changes, it worked, though. And I had a team to dress me between sets. Now I kicked aside the white leather pants and jacket I’d worn during my first set and turned to face the others. Steve had stayed out, minding his own business, but Nash had come in, along with Laney and the pregnant chick.

  The dressing room was brightly lit with fluorescent bulbs, which washed out the girl’s already pallid skin and made her look even worse. Whatever the pregnancy glow was supposed to do, it wasn’t doing it for her.

  Nash started barking at me right away, scolding me for yelling at the fans.

  “I thought you wanted me to be grown up,” I interrupted with a smirk. “Isn’t this what grown up rock stars do? Throw tantrums?”

  Nash stopped yelling and took a breath, his eyes hard with anger, and ran his hand over his gelled curls. “What is this all about? Who the fuck is this?”

  “Yeah, Brody Villines,” the pregnant chick said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Now she was smirking, obviously aware that I didn’t know her name. Of course I’d never asked her name. I never asked any of them for names.

  “I’m sure you don’t need my help with that,” I said. “You’ve already come in and disrupted the afterparty. I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”

  “Afterparty? That’s what you call an afterparty? God, you’re even more pathetic than last time I saw you.”

  “Go on, introduce yourself. The floor is yours. You’ve got everyone riveted.”

  “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes and adopting a sugary, sarcastic tone as she went on. “I’m Uma. It’s ever so nice of you to let me into your exclusive private party. It’s not every day I rub elbows with the rich and famous. I guess I’m supposed to be falling on my knees begging to blow you at this point. Isn’t that what you said, Brody?”

  “So you’re one of his ‘baby-dolls’?” Laney asked, her voice even. “And you’re pregnant, and you’re claiming it’s his. Do you really think you’re the first person who’s ever tried to say Brody knocked her up?” She gave Uma a pitying look.

  “Bullshit,” Nash cut in. “No fucking way. Is that what this is about? Brody, you handled this like a fucking child. So some chick says you knocked her up? Big fucking deal. Let me guess—she wants some money?”

  �
�Hell yes, I want some money,” Uma said. “He owes me. And I obviously don’t have any.” She gestured to her tattered trench coat and dingy grey t-shirt. She was skinny, too, her elbows jutting at the fabric of her thin coat. She pointed a finger at me. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for months. You’re going to take care of this.”

  “Aren’t you…a little…uh…big for that?” I asked, gesturing to her belly. It wasn’t like she was about to pop out a kid right there, but she was obviously pregnant.

  “No, no, no,” Nash said. “We’re not even going to discuss this. Get the fuck out of here.”

  “Hey, no problem,” the girl, raising her hands. “I could have talked to the magazines months ago, when I found out. I could have splashed it all over social media, like that chick did to the Biebs. But up until now, I’ve been classy.”

  “If that’s what you call it,” Laney muttered.

  “Listen, lady,” Nash said. “You’ve never even met Brody before. You’re just a crazy fan. Nobody’s going to believe you.”

  Uma’s eyes darted to me, and for the first time, she looked a little uncertain. An edge of desperation crept into her eyes. “Brody?” she asked, her voice a little higher than before. She swallowed loudly enough for all of us to hear it in the silence.

  “Don’t say anything,” Nash said. “I’ll get security to throw her out, and if you’re worried she’ll smear you, we can get your lawyer on the phone. Right now, you don’t know this chick from Adam, and anything she says is libel.”

  “It’s not libel if it’s true,” she said, but her eyes stayed on me, still pleading. “And I don’t have anywhere to go. I was in this band, and of course the second I started showing, they threw me out. And then I was going to stay with my cousin, but her parents sublet the house while they’re off in Europe or some shit…” Her voice broke and she stopped abruptly, swallowing her words.

  “Nice story,” Nash said, reaching for his phone.

  “I’ll get a DNA test.”

  “Hold on,” I said, raising a hand to stop Nash from calling security.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nash said. “It’s like managing a toddler. You really going to believe every sob story that comes through the doors?”

  “I’m leaving,” Laney said. “I can’t hear any more of this.”

  I turned to her, and Nash picked up his phone again, and Uma went on chattering about the DNA test. All I wanted to do was run the fuck out of there. Rewind the clock to the beginning of that night, when everything was going right and everyone was happy. Or better yet, rewind to the last night I’d played with Just 5 Guys, so I could talk myself out of grudge fucking some holier-than-thou hipster chick with violet eyes.

  The fucked up part was, if she hadn’t been the last groupie I’d fucked, I probably wouldn’t have remembered her at all. That, and those crazy purple eyes.

  Laney pivoted on her heel and walked out of the dressing room with measured steps, her head held high. I didn’t know if I should follow or if she wanted to be alone. I didn’t know if I should leave Nash alone with this other chick. I sure as hell didn’t want to be alone with her.

  In a matter of moments, I’d lost the one person I wanted to keep forever. It wasn’t really a contest.

  I strode out of the dressing room. “Laney,” I called, jogging to catch up with her in the backstage area, which felt huge and cavernous now that it wasn’t filled with other people. Her back stiffened as I approached, and she didn’t turn toward me.

  “Laney.” I grabbed her arm and spun her around, only to see her face streaked with tears.

  “I can’t believe I fucking trusted you!” she yelled, slamming her palms into my chest and knocking me a step back. “I can’t believe I thought you’d changed.”

  “Laney,” I said. “That was before we were together. It was ages ago. She’s nobody.”

  “Yeah, well, that nobody just ruined us. I hope it was worth it.”

  Something caved inside my chest, but I wouldn’t give up that easy. “Don’t say that,” I commanded. “I’m not letting you go. We can figure this out.”

  She dropped her head and swiped under her eyes, but when I tried to put a hand on her shoulder, she reeled away. “Don’t touch me, Brody. You better not touch me right now.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. She’d never understand. Hell, it was hard for me to even understand now that I’d been away for a while. But I remembered what it had been like, the endless parade of groupies who all blurred together, the illusion that they could make me feel something, anything, when all along I should have seen that the only person who could touch my heart was gone.

  She took a shuddering breath and wiped her cheeks with both hands at once, swiping away all emotion. “I’m going back to the hotel,” she said. “I need to be alone. I’ll be there when you get back. You should go talk to that girl. If it is yours…” She broke off and shook her head. “Give me at least an hour.”

  “Laney, please…” I reached out again, then dropped my hand before she could shrink back. That had nearly killed me the first time she shrank away like I was someone she didn’t know, a stranger. I didn’t think I’d survive it again. “Just promise you’ll be there when I get back.”

  “I said I would,” she said. “I’m not the liar here, Brody.”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a little late to brag about that one. Outright lying isn’t the only way to be dishonest.”

  “I wasn’t—.”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t need to hear it. I’ve heard more than enough tonight.”

  Watching her walk away was like watching her rip my guts out while I was helpless to stop her. It was all I could do not to punch through a wall, throw tables and chairs and mic stands and speakers, scream until the fucking stadium burst apart at the seams and blew shrapnel all over Seattle.

  “Wow,” Uma said behind me. “That was cold.”

  I hadn’t heard her come out, but I turned around, all my anger melting into something else, something that rested uneasily in my bones, something that felt too much like hollowness. Like loss.

  twenty-five

  Laney

  I didn’t need a bodyguard. I didn’t need the rented Hummer to come and whisk me away, guarding me from throngs of fans. By myself, I was no one, unrecognizable unless someone was looking for me. I ducked my head against the rain, trying to hail a cab. But it was after the show, and everyone had already grabbed all the cabs when they spilled out of the stadium. I pulled my jacket closed around me and walked briskly to a covered bus stop a hundred feet down the sidewalk.

  Inside, a crumpled McDonald’s bag lay wadded up on one end of the bench. The Happy Meal toy that must have come in in the bag—some kind of action figure—lay face down on the wet pavement just outside the shelter, no doubt dropped as the kid approached the bus. I wondered how old that kid had been, if it was a boy or girl, if it had cried when the missing toy had been realized. Anything to keep my mind off that other kid I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one inside that girl.

  Uma.

  Of all the ways I’d imagined Brody’s past coming back to haunt us, that hadn’t been among them. I’d worried that I’d never measure up. I’d worried that I would always worry that I’d never measure up. I had worried about him cheating again. That had been the big one.

  But never this. And never with a skank like Uma. She wasn’t even pretty, with her raggedy clothes and oily hair. I’d never understand how he’d slept with a girl who looked like that, even if I understood everything else. How could he have chosen that, even tons of that, over me? And why did that hurt so fucking much?

  I’d heard of guys “slumming it,” but usually that meant some football player was sleeping with a poor-but-hot girl with a reputation. This gave the expression a whole new meaning.

  I kept circling back to that. To how on earth Brody could have ever wanted to have sex with that girl—even meaningless, ano
nymous sex. Because face it, even a blind man could have seen that he had no idea who the girl was when she showed up.

  The trouble was, he’d remembered. He’d remembered, and it must have been true, because he hadn’t told her to fuck off.

  I sighed and hunched my shoulders as I stood under the bust stop. In truth, I wouldn’t have wanted him to boot the girl. That was the thing. The worst thing. I couldn’t tell him to throw her out and pretend he’d never seen her. She looked so desperate, a runaway teen with collarbones jutting through her stained t-shirt and sunken, desperate eyes. If Brody had told her to fuck off, even if it turned out he hadn’t gotten her pregnant, I would have been horrified.

  You couldn’t just say fuck off to a starving pregnant girl, even if she had fucked your boyfriend.

  A bus came by, but I didn’t climb on. I just wanted the shelter, not a ride. A few passengers descended the steps and climbed off the bus—three laughing college students who made me miss Piper, an obese black woman who looked so weary that she might not be able to take one more step, a young hipster couple with a pair of toddlers strapped to their chests. I looked away, my throat tightening.

  Brody was going to be a father. At least he thought so. And that other girl was going to be the mother. Not me.

  Not that I wanted a baby. I wasn’t ready for that. But someday, I wanted a lot of them. After growing up an only child, I’d always wanted a big family. And not too far in the future. If I was going to have four kids, as I’d always planned, I couldn’t wait until I was approaching middle age to get started. I’d had it all planned out. I would marry Paul at twenty-five, after two years of grad school, and we’d start having babies a few years later.

  Piper told me I was crazy to want to get married so young. But in the south, that wasn’t young. Most of my friends had gotten engaged in college, like me. A lot were getting married now that they’d graduated. Waiting until after grad school was considered cautious. Piper lived in a different world now, and for the first time, I worried she might not understand.