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

by Selena

  Somewhere along the way, I had gotten comfortable. I had started to believe Brody would never break my heart. I’d forgotten all my own schemes, broken all my rules. One day, when his tour was over, I’d imagined going back to Kentucky with him and settling down. Not having kids now, but not in the distant future, either. He’d finish out the contract with his label for two more albums, and I’d go on tour with him. But he wouldn’t want to do that forever. From all that he’d said, he was growing weary of it already.

  At last, I called Uber and got a ride back to the hotel. “Did you see the concert?” the driver asked. He was a young guy with a beanie and a beard. “It’s that new guy everybody’s talking about, right? Brody Villines? The indie popstar?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was quite a show.”

  Back at the hotel, I climbed onto the elevator and scanned my keycard to go to the suite. No one could access it from the lobby unless they had a card, which kept fans from trying to follow Brody up to his room. On the top floor, I exited the elevator car and stepped into the suite.

  A few soft lamps lit the living area, which suddenly felt strange and formal without Brody. We’d lounged around most of the day, watching TV, making love, talking. Now, it was only me with my thoughts. I opened the fridge and surveyed the minibar, but I didn’t feel like drinking. I didn’t feel like anything.

  I sat down on the couch and searched for the remote. A flash of memory came back to me, the moment earlier that afternoon when I’d knocked it to the floor while flexing my foot, my toes curling as I cupped the back of Brody’s neck, pulling his face deeper between my thighs as I came.

  Suddenly, I wanted to wipe the memory from my mind, go back and wipe all the memories of him from my mind. Not just the recent ones, but all of them. My whole life was flavored by Brody’s sweetness, his nearness. My memories, my very soul, was intertwined with his, twisted together like two trees that had once thought it might be a good idea to grow close together. My whole life was filled with Brody’s presence and his absence. Even the places he hadn’t touched were filled with the longing for him.

  It would never go away. He would never go away. Even if he let me go, I would never be rid of him. He’d come back the same way his past had come back for him, haunting, nagging, demanding attention, consuming my soul.

  Because I could think of no other way to cleanse myself, I climbed in the shower. Even there, my body held the memory of him. In every soft space, around every curve, nestled into the crook of my neck and elbow, buried deep inside where no one would ever see.

  Not like that other girl. Someone would see where Brody had been inside her. It was big and obvious, a growing part of her. Somehow, that was both better and worse. That girl had proof. All I had to show for my pain was a luxury hotel room. I didn’t even have a ring to take off and throw at him, that symbolic gesture to signify the end in grand fashion.

  No, this heartbreak was as quiet and lethal as the last one.

  twenty-six

  Brody

  “Where’s Nash?” I asked, fighting every urge to turn and run after Laney, to chase her down and claim her, to tell her that I’d never be done with her. That didn’t matter to her, because she was done with me. After this, she would be.

  “He’s having a meltdown on the phone in your dressing room,” Uma said, pulling out a folding metal chair from one of the plastic folding tables where an orange plastic watercooler sat. It was much less glamorous now that it had been cleared of the VIP trappings.

  I pulled out another chair and sat, dropping my head into my hands.

  “I’m not making it up, you know,” Uma said after a while.

  I lifted my head. “How could I have been so fucking stupid? I didn’t use a condom. I didn’t, did I?”

  Uma bit at a hangnail.

  “Jesus. Nash always fucking told me. Wear a fucking rubber. Wear a fucking rubber. That’s all I ever heard. You can fuck all the groupies you want, but wear a fucking rubber. And I always did.”

  “It was in the moment,” Uma said. “We weren’t thinking about it.”

  “And you weren’t on birth control? You didn’t think to go get the morning after pill?”

  She shook her head, her limp hair falling in her face.

  “Can I ask you something? Are you on drugs, Uma? Because you look like shit, no offense.”

  Uma rolled her eyes and shook her hair back. “That’s not offensive at all,” she said sarcastically. “And no, I’m not on drugs, unless you call generic brand antacids drugs, and then, yeah. I’m downing an industrial sized bottle of those a week. But I mostly puke them all up anyway, so I’m not sure I can blame the shitty store brand for its ineffectiveness.”

  “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  “I asked my doctor, well, the time I went to see one, and they can go in with this super long needle and get some DNA before it’s born.”

  “Holy shit,” I said, my head swimming at the thought of that needle.

  “They said it was risky, though, and I might lose the baby. And you know what’s fucked up? I thought, sweet, I definitely want to do that. But I couldn’t afford the fucking test.”

  “Jesus, Uma.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think He’s too fond of me right now.”

  I dropped my head back into my hands. “Fuck,” I muttered again. It seemed the only word adequate for the situation.

  “Sorry about your girlfriend. I’m guessing that’s what she was. I’m right, right? That’s why the groupies aren’t lined up outside your dressing room waiting to blow you.”

  “She’s more than a girlfriend.”

  Uma’s eyes widened. “Shit, fiancé? Wife? Nah, I would have heard about that in some gossip rag.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She shrugged and slumped back in her chair. “Well, I’m sorry I scared her off. And trust me, I’m not here to get in the way of any of that shit. It’s not like I want to marry you.”

  The very mention made my adrenaline kick in. She couldn’t force me to do that. Even a pregnancy scandal was, well, it was bad, no way around that. Still, celebrities had kids out of wedlock all the time.

  I just knew what my mother would have to say about that.

  I dropped my forehead on the edge of the table, and a dull pain thumped into my skull. So I did it again, and again, and again. There was something satisfying about punishing myself in this small way for the gigantic, irreversible, fucking disaster I had made of my life. One girl. One night. One condom I hadn’t used.

  “So, look, I’m sorry about your girlfriend and everything, and I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I’m thinking you’ll be okay,” Uma said. “You’re a guy, and you’re like twenty-something, and cute in that boyband way, and famous, and you probably wipe your ass with hundred-dollar bills. I think she’ll forgive you, and if she doesn’t, you’ll find someone else.”

  “I don’t want someone else,” I snapped, slamming my fist down on the table.

  Uma jumped. “Okay, you’re obviously not hearing me. So I’m just going to go ahead and be a bitch here. I know this is a lot to absorb in one night, so I’m going to pretend you’re not a completely selfish, self-centered douche, because you didn’t call me a liar and get security to throw me out. But I’m homeless here, Brody. I have exactly…”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of change and crumpled dollar bills and dumped it on the table. “Three dollars and change. I’m stuck with this freaky alien thing growing inside me like a parasite. And guess what? I’m nineteen, so I’m going to be a teen mom. A homeless teen mom. I’m not even going to be able to buy diapers, so I guess I’ll just walk down the street and let her crap all over the sidewalk. So as tragic as your fight with your girlfriend is, I’d really like to get back to that money thing, if you don’t mind.”

  Damn, I really was an asshole. I needed to pull my shit together and think about someone besides myself right now. Not my specialty.

  “Okay, you
’re right,” I said. “Are you, uh, too late?” I gestured to her belly, unable to say the awful word.

  “You mean can I get an abortion, so you don’t have to deal with it? Yeah, I think so. But I don’t really know. I figured I’d do that, but I didn’t have the money for that, either. I mean, what do I know about being a mom? I don’t even like kids. So then I tried to find your number.”

  That made me laugh, a hollow sound that lacked any hint of mirth.

  “I get it,” she said. “You can’t have your twenty million fans blowing up your phone. Or your Twitter or… I assume you just don’t check those at all. You probably have people who do that for you, right? And what’s one message, like, Hey, Brody, I’m that girl you fucked after your last show. I need to talk to you. You probably get a hundred of those a day.”

  I laid my head down on the table. I wondered if she ever stopped talking. I needed a shower, and a massage, and a call to my shrink. But more than anything, I needed Laney. I could feel the raw, scraped out feeling in my chest where she should be. I should be with her. Not here with some stranger. I should just cut her a check and tell her to disappear.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked without lifting my head.

  “Well, I was crashing at my drummer’s house until recently,” Uma said. “But then her boyfriend made a pass at me, because I guess that’s a whole ‘nother level of creepy no one tells you about this whole pregnancy thing, is that for some freaky reason I don’t understand, guys are suddenly hitting on me. Like, different guys. Apparently, that’s a thing. Some guys think it’s hot. Don’t ask me why, I know I look like shit without you telling me. Anyway, since I’m not in the band anymore anyway…” She shrugged and bit at a hangnail again. Her nails were short and ragged, red-rimmed, as if she’d bitten them down to below the quick.

  “Let me get you a room in our hotel,” I said. “You can order some food.”

  She gave me a suspicious look. “You’re probably staying in the fucking Hilton or something. I bet that’s like, two hundred bucks a night. I could use that money for something else.”

  “I’m not offering you money right now,” I said. “Not until I’ve talked to my people more. But I don’t want you sleeping on the street, either. And you look like you could use some food and a shower. No offense.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she pushed herself up from her chair. “You’re surprisingly un-douche-like this time,” she said. “Your girlfriend has trained you well.”

  “Don’t even fuck with me right now,” I said. “If it turns out you’re lying…”

  “I’m not lying,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “And I think you know it. I hadn’t slept with anyone in months before that. That’s probably why I was desperate enough to be susceptible to your douchebaggery. You hit the window.”

  “The what?”

  “The window of opportunity. You know, that sweet spot between getting it regular and getting used to not getting any, when you’re especially horny and you really don’t care who you’re going home with, you just need a good fuck.”

  “Huh.”

  “Right, I guess you wouldn’t know,” she said. “You’ve probably never gone two consecutive nights without bashing the gash.”

  “Let’s just go.”

  But before we could leave, Nash came storming out to grab me. “Where do you think you’re running off to?”

  “I need to see Laney.”

  “Fuck Laney,” Nash said. “We need this taken care of tonight.”

  “I’m getting Uma a hotel room,” I said. “I think whatever you have to say can wait until morning. I need to be with Laney.”

  “You can’t get this broad a hotel room,” Nash said. “That’s an admission.”

  “I believe her,” I said with a shrug.

  “Oh my fuck,” Nash screamed, throwing up his hands so violently that his phone went flying across the room. “You’re going to believe every groupie that says she’s pregnant with your baby, you’re going to have a fucking caravan of tour buses following you around. Why don’t we just make that your act, huh? Brody Villines and the Pregnant Groupies. Are you fucking retarded?”

  “Oh, wow,” Uma said. “So, that’s offensive.”

  “Look, Nash, I fucked up, okay? In the five years we had the band, I fucked up one time. And it was with her.”

  Nash’s voice lowered and his eyes narrowed into slits. “What do you mean, fucked up?”

  “I didn’t wear a condom.”

  Nash began spluttering incoherently with rage, his face going redder and redder until it was almost purple.

  “I need to be with my family right now,” I said. “You do what needs to be done on the business side. You always tell me to stay out of that. So I’m going home to Laney.”

  Ignoring Nash’s tantrum, I ducked back to the dressing room, where I grabbed my ski cap and jacket. Suddenly, I was sure that Laney wouldn’t be back at the hotel, that she’d be gone when I got back. The caved-in feeling inside me increased, like everything in my chest was crumbling. I almost ran outside, only to be slammed by a sheet of frigid rain.

  “Welcome to Seattle,” Uma yelled over the downpour. I tried to shelter her with my arm as we ran to the rented H2. I jumped up into the back seat and reached down to take Uma’s hand and pull her up. We were both nearly soaked after the run through the rain, though it had only been ten seconds, tops.

  “I can’t believe you drive a Hummer,” Uma muttered when she’d caught her breath.

  “Well, I do.”

  “Actually, I can believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe I’m riding in one. God, this thing probably costs as much as a house. And the gas it takes… I feel guilty just sitting here.”

  “Would you rather be out there in the pouring rain?”

  “No,” she admitted, then turned to the window. “Thanks.”

  At the hotel, I got her a room, told her to order room service, and split. I couldn’t wait to get away from her. She was everything I’d tried to forget when I started over.

  A new sound, a new lifestyle, a new girl.

  One girl.

  Love. Excitement. Hope.

  All that had come to a screeching halt the moment she showed up like a symbol of everything in my life I’d fucked up.

  twenty-seven

  Brody

  My stomach might rebel at any moment, hurl the contents of my lunch with Laney, so many hours ago. I should have been starving, but all I could think about was Laney. Laney, and how heavy the weight inside me had grown, as if I were turning to stone from the inside out.

  I’d been standing outside the door to our hotel room for five minutes, unable to make myself open it. If I found it empty, I didn’t think I’d come out of it alive. I’d transform overnight into one of those prima donna rock stars who trashed their hotel rooms and refused to take the stage the next night.

  But if I didn’t go in, I’d never know. Never know how it ended.

  Before I could punk out, I swiped my key card and pushed the door open. A wave of Lysol scent billowed out in my face, so thick I could see it hanging in the air. But it wasn’t empty. Thank fuck it wasn’t empty.

  I stepped inside, and there she was.

  She was standing on tiptoes, spraying the wall behind the TV with some kind of cleaning product.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. “Just cleaning up a little.”

  I glanced at the Walgreens bag on the couch, cans of Lysol spray and tubes of Clorox wipes spilling forth.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I asked. “You’re going to give yourself brain damage breathing in all this.”

  “It’s just Lysol.”

  “I think you’re supposed to spray it in a ventilated area,” I said carefully. “You have no idea how strong it smells in here.”

  “I’m almost done,” she said, moving to the little kitchen area, where she began spraying the island liberally.

  “Laney, come on
,” I said. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I just needed to clean up a little, I told you.”

  “Laney, this is crazy,” I said, waving away a cloud of disinfectant fog that drifted from the island.

  “Oh, so now I’m crazy,” she said, slamming the can down on the island.

  Shit. Bad word choice. I held out a hand and tried to explain. “No, that’s not what—”

  “I’m crazy for being pissed that the man I love fucked some other girl and couldn’t even bother to wear protection? I’m crazy to wonder how many other girls you didn’t wear one with, and that the first thing I did when I realized you were going around having unprotected sex with girls whose names you can’t even remember was to call and set up an appointment to get tested?”

  “It was one girl, Laney. One time. I swear it.”

  “That you remember,” she exploded. “You didn’t even remember her! You told me you always wore one. So now I find out you didn’t. How many others don’t you remember?”

  Fuck. What if she was right. “I—I’m pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure doesn’t fucking help when the test comes back positive, does it, Brody?”

  “Laney, no. That’s not going to happen. She’s not like that. She wasn’t a groupie.”

  “Oh, right. She was a real girlfriend. You really cared about her. It meant something. That’s why you couldn’t remember her fucking name?”

  “Okay, I didn’t say she was a girlfriend,” I said, holding up a hand. My eyes were starting to water from the fumes, and I couldn’t think straight. “I said she’s not a groupie. I’m sure she doesn’t have any diseases.”

  “Oh, really? You’re sure? Like you were sure you wore a condom with all your sex-doll sluts? Or you’re pretty sure, kind of like you’re pretty sure there’s not some other groupie going to show up nine months pregnant or dropping herpes scabs all over the floor.”

  “You have every right to be pissed.”

  “You’re damn right I do. And I am. Oh, you have no idea just how pissed. You come back here and defend that girl? Defend yourself? You have no right, Brody.”