Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4)

by Jaine Diamond

  “Are you serious? How about every moment you’ve got, until you’re in your grave.” She took a step closer, and it killed me to see that determination on her face, those deep, all-seeing eyes. She wanted to help me and I was so sick of letting her down. “You need to face your fears, and get out from under this control they have over your life. You think you’re in control? You’re fucking lost, Cary Clarke. You’re still lost. The day I met you, I thought I was walking into a meeting with a crazy person. But you’re not crazy, Cary. You’re fucking broken and you refuse to try to fix yourself with everything you’ve got. I have never met someone as lost as you are, just standing in one place. You need to find yourself again. Find that part of you that you put aside when Gabe died, that part of you that became a great musician and a rock star in the first place, and a great guy who so many people care about. That guy who wanted something out of life besides growing old alone inside his mansion. Open yourself up again so you can feel joy and dare to get close to people again, take risks again. That’s why your loved ones keep pushing you to come out of your cave. Love, Cary. They love you.”

  “No.” I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t deserve to hear it.

  “I love you.”

  I barely heard her say it. I was turning to disappear through the door. “Not right now, okay?”

  “Then when?” She grabbed my arm and turned me to face her again. “If you won’t let me help you, please just let someone help you.”

  “I’ve tried, Taylor. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried therapy. Psychotherapy. Unconventional therapy. I’ve tried drugs. Fucking mushrooms. Hypnosis. Meditation. Self-help books. Nothing works.”

  “That is not true. It can’t be. You haven’t tried everything yet. If you tried everything, if you’d done everything you could do, you would’ve found success by now. You haven’t tried everything.”

  “What do you want me to do? You think I’m just gonna go hang out with a horse and it’s gonna magically cure me?”

  “Maybe not. But there has to be something.”

  “Maybe you need to accept that this is impossible.”

  She stood back like I’d slapped her or something.

  “Do you think you don’t deserve to be happy or something? Is that it?”

  “It’s my fault,” I practically yelled in her face. “Don’t you get that? It’s my fault.”

  She shook her head. But instead of asking me what I meant by that, or refuting it, she said, “Well, of course it’s your fault. It has to be someone’s fault, right? You need someone to blame. You could’ve blamed so many people, and I’m sure you did. I’m sure you blamed Gabe. And the rest of your band. And the crew. And the hotel staff. And the first responders who didn’t get there in time. I’m sure you blamed the man who set the fire, but he’s dead now. And dead men don’t feel pain, right? You could’ve blamed so many people. But isn’t it just more effective to blame yourself? Because that’s what hurts the most, right? It’s the best way to punish yourself for something you can’t change. And besides, it’s just easiest to blame yourself. You’re the closest target.”

  I said nothing. My whole body was shaking. I could feel the tears burning in my eyes, and I just stood there, frozen, trying not to break down in front of her.

  “Can’t you ever forgive yourself?” she said softly, studying my face. “Gabe would’ve forgiven you, long ago, if he were here to do it. You know he would.”

  I forced myself to turn and step into the studio. My joints were stiff. I was forgetting to breathe.

  “Why won’t you let anyone help you?” She practically begged from the doorway behind me. “Why do you have to suffer through this alone?”

  I turned back to her. “That’s what you want, to suffer with me? Why the fuck would you want that?”

  She didn’t say anything, just stood there, looking at me from the threshold.

  Out. In.

  We stared at each other for a long moment, while my heart thudded in my chest, so hard. I was still shaking as I drew a deep, slow breath. Then another. And another.

  Four counts in. Hold four. Four counts out.

  “No,” I said, but my fight was fading. “No. I’ll only drag you down.”

  “That’s bullshit, Cary. If you push me away, you’re not protecting me. You’re not protecting yourself, either. You’re just throwing it all away.”

  My gaze dragged over her. I didn’t want to shut the door in her face. I didn’t want to.

  I was giving in. I could feel it. I tried with my last bit of fight to push her away, but I could feel myself losing the battle. I didn’t want to win this fight. I didn’t want to push her away.

  You promised her you wouldn’t do this.

  “What are you still doing here?” I asked her, my voice small. “Go live your life, Taylor. It’s waiting for you.”

  “Well,” she said quietly, not going anywhere at all, “I’m waiting for you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Taylor

  Put a Flower in Your Pocket

  December

  I’d never been so nervous walking into a party in my life.

  It wasn’t all the beautiful people in the place, or the famous people, or the amount of money that I knew had been spent on this thing. It was the heartrending anticipation of not knowing if Cary was going to show up.

  I’d come to the Players’ album release party at the Crystal hotel without him. In an effort to avoid another argument about it, I’d gone ahead with getting my party outfit ready and making plans. He’d asked me to go without him, with friends. So that was what I did.

  I just had to trust that he’d get to the party himself, if that’s what he chose to do. I couldn’t force him.

  I’d made it clear that I thought he should come.

  But it was his decision.

  Danica was coming in a limo with Ashley and a few other people, and while I’d originally planned to join them, I’d opted to come with Merritt when she called to ask if I was going. She didn’t seem to have a date, so we paired up. She got a sitter for her kid, and we got ready at my apartment downtown before catching a cab to the hotel.

  When we arrived, it was clear that a VIP event had taken over the premises. The hotel and restaurant were open to the public, of course, but the traffic loop in front of the hotel was dominated by limos, town cars and taxis, and security was everywhere. Well-dressed guests wearing everything from exquisite red carpet formal wear to outlandish masquerade ball attire to ripped jeans and leather drifted into the hotel, through the lobby and up the sweeping staircase to the ballroom on the second floor—every one of them wearing a mask.

  The official invitations had said: Anything with a mask goes.

  I’d heard that Zane Traynor had actually threatened to show up in nothing but a mask, but we’d just have to see how the night played out.

  This was a music industry event, which meant there were a lot of creative people behind it, and Summer had really amped things up with the whole masquerade-party-meets-rocker-ball theme. I may have actually suggested the idea myself over a bottle of wine, late one night at a party at Summer and Ronan’s house, because maybe I thought it might help Cary show up if he knew he could wear a mask.

  Summer had fucking loved the idea, and along with the help of Brody’s staff and Trey’s people, they’d all made it happen. Maybe best of all, because Trey had such a knack for parting the wealthy with their money, he’d suggested we turn it into a charity event. So now we were raising money for my beloved animal shelter while we partied.

  With its VIP guest list, this party had to be the hottest ticket of the year in Vancouver, and I almost had to pinch myself to believe I was part of it.

  “Pinch me,” I told Merritt as we sailed in through the open doors of the ballroom, which were flanked by so many impenetrable-looking security dudes I almost thought we were gonna get stopped. But all I had to do was spot Ronan. He gave us both a quick hug, and in we went. Because he was managing
security for the event, he wasn’t exactly in costume. He wore a black suit, but he did have a black mask pushed up on top of his head that maybe he was planning to slip on later.

  Merritt dutifully pinched my arm. I’d already forgotten I asked her to.

  “Ouch. Fuck. Okay, I guess I’m awake.”

  “You may be high, though,” she said, gazing around. “I’m pretty sure I must be. That’s the only explanation for what I’m seeing right now…”

  The beautiful, old room with its high ceilings, mysterious alcoves and open archways to the Eden-like, romantic balconies had been decorated in black, gold, and of course red, the theme color of the Players’ album. There was a massive banner with the album cover on it hanging along one wall, Ashley’s handprint in all that paint/blood splatter at least a story high. A trio of glittering, gold disco balls hung over the dance floor, glitter was sprinkled all over the floor, and glittery curtains draped the entrances to the balconies. On the far wall, there was a screen where an image of the Players in the studio faded out, replaced by another image of the band; image after image faded into the next, on a loop.

  And of all things, one of my faaaaavorite bands was playing as we made our entrance. It was Our Last Night’s heavy cover of “7 Rings,” in an orgasmic mashup with the original Ariana Grande version and an incredible, panty-dropping dance beat, and I just about died and went to music heaven right on the spot.

  It had DJ Summer written all over it.

  The music was courtesy of a male DJ who was spinning over in a corner booth, but it was nice to hear that although Summer had officially left her deck behind and leveled up to rock star status, she hadn’t totally abandoned her roots. She was actually one of the first people we saw when we entered the room; she seemed to be hanging out near the entrance, maybe partly to be close to Ronan, and definitely to greet every single guest as they walked in.

  “Summer! You’re killing me,” I told her as soon as she spotted me, and her mouth dropped open in delight. “The music is so on point, I’m gonna walk out and walk right back in.” I spun around and pretended to do just that. “The girls with tattoos are here,” I announced, referring to the words in the song as I strut over to her in my high-heeled boots.

  “And we do like getting in trouble…” Merritt mused thoughtfully.

  “Ladies!! You look gorgeous,” Summer exclaimed, yanking us both in for a hug. “Taylor, what do you think?” She swept her arm to indicate the room, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from her. She’d gone with a devilish theme for her masquerade outfit, and one that went nicely with the theme of the album—a red, patent leather bodysuit with a daring keyhole that exposed her cleavage, blood-red lipstick, a gorgeous, elaborate, red-and-gold eye mask, and little devil horns. She even had a forked tail.

  “I think… you look incredible. And you did an incredible job.”

  “Sweetheart, you did an incredible job. This was all your idea, and don’t think I’ve forgotten it. There’s a bottle of pink bubbly with your name on it at the bar. And one for you too, Merritt.”

  We thanked her and headed deeper into the room, trying to find our way to the bar through all the bodies. Not all that easy with a mask on.

  Merritt had worn a sexy, beaded, charcoal-silver cocktail dress, flapper-style, with long, charcoal satin cigarette gloves and a feathered and beaded black eye mask. If you aren’t getting laid in that get-up, I’d told her as soon as I saw her, there’s no hope for mankind.

  I’d opted to blend a few of my favorite things in my costume choice: animals, rock ’n’ roll, and the color black. I’d gone with a kind of Catwoman theme, wearing a sleeveless, black sheath dress that hugged me from chest to ankle, with a long slit up the side. I had long black boots and black gloves, a black tail, ears and partial face mask, and of course, what was a kitty without a collar? I’d bedazzled my accessories with silver studs to rock them out. It only occurred to me when I actually saw myself in the entire thing that it had a very S&M vibe about it.

  I’d briefly considered changing it or toning it down. But honestly, at an event like this, with this crowd… I didn’t even stand out.

  People were already dancing, and heavily into drinking, mingling and checking out all the incredible outfits and costumes, trying to figure out who was who, probably, just like we were.

  Some people were a total mystery.

  But others were obvious.

  Like Elle Delacroix’s sister, Angeline, and her boyfriend, Flynn, who was Elle’s bodyguard. Flynn looked stiff and on-guard, as usual, but tonight he was the vision of cuteness dressed as the man in black from The Princess Bride, in black pants and a black pirate shirt, head scarf and eye mask. Angeline was, of course, the princess bride, complete with the bridal dress, crown, and a gold eye mask. I clocked them right away and mentally put them in the running for Most Adorable Couple Costume.

  We really should’ve given out a prize for that, because that level of cuteness was award worthy.

  Trey Jones stood out, too. That tall, athletic stature and the square jaw, the jagged, white half-mask against his dark skin—like if the Phantom of the Opera was a rock star. He wore a black tuxedo with long tails and glittering seams, and he pretty much stood in one spot at the edge of the dance floor, where people flocked around him.

  Then we found Xander and Courteney. Also easy to spot.

  Xander looked pretty much like Xander usually did, except for the full head mask. He wore red sequined sneakers, snug white jeans and a shredded white T-shirt that probably cost more than my entire outfit. It clung to his muscles, offering a peek at his tattoos through the rips. And on his head, he wore a red-and-white lucha libre mask. Courteney wore a long, turquoise skirt with sequins like scales and a long train like a mermaid tail, with a seashell bra over a see-through top. Miniature starfish decorated her long, blonde hair, and a glittery green mask that looked like kelp wrapped over her eyes.

  After the ridiculous conversation Cary and I once had about mermaid sex, I couldn’t wait for him to see her in it.

  I wondered, though, if he’d get to see her in it.

  “I had no idea your man was a secret Mexican wrestler,” I said, walking up to them.

  Courteney turned, saw me, and evidently recognized me as easily as Ronan and Summer had. “Taylor! WHOA. You look hot.”

  “As do you, my friend. I didn’t realize this was a fetish party. Kind of feels like one, wouldn’t you say?”

  She snickered.

  “Seems to have given more than a few people permission to fly their freak flags a little higher than usual,” Xander agreed.

  “So, is your fetish the mermaid thing?” I asked Courteney. “Or the Mexican wrestler?” I waggled my eyebrows at her, but then realized she probably couldn’t tell because of my mask.

  “Well, mermaids are beautiful and magical,” she mused. “But I am hoping he tries out some of his wrestling moves on me later.”

  “I’ve got this body slam I’ve been working on,” he told her. Then he took a swig of his beer through his mouth hole.

  “I guess the question is,” I said to Courteney, “do you get him to leave the mask on…?”

  “Hmm…” She considered. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “I say leave it on,” Merritt said beside me. “Let that freak flag fly.”

  “I think we should all leave our masks on and just live like this all the time,” Courteney said.

  “Hear, hear,” I said, and realized I should really get myself a drink, so I had something to toast people with when they made fabulous suggestions like that.

  Courteney smiled at me. “So… do you know if Cary’s coming?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  “Maybe the masks will help?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is that why you suggested the idea to Summer? Because you thought it might make it easier for him?”

  “This was all your idea?” Xander cut in.

  “I don’t know. It was the wine,” I
admitted. “It just sort of fell out of my mouth. And yeah, I was hoping maybe it would help Cary walk in the door. But I guess we’ll see, right?”

  I was pretty sure I could see the emotion in Xander’s eyes and in Courteney’s, even through their masks. “You’re so good for him,” she gushed, and she gave me a big, squishy hug.

  “Thank you. Uh, apparently, there are some bottles of bubbly with our names on them over at the bar. We should maybe go get started on getting loaded.”

  “Okay. We’ll catch you later,” Courteney said, and I headed off with Merritt before things got too emotional.

  I really wished I had better answers for them. Yes, Cary’s coming. He’ll be right along. Or better yet, He’s right over there, didn’t you know?

  But I really didn’t know if he was coming.

  After our argument about it last weekend, we’d reached a gentle stalemate. I didn’t go home like he asked me to. He’d changed his mind about wanting me to leave, and good thing, because I didn’t want to leave. I spent the rest of my birthday with him, at his place, and then that night I went out to celebrate with my friends while he stayed home.

  The rest of the week pretty much rolled out the same way. He’d gone on with his life, inside his home, and I’d gone on with mine, both inside and out of his home. I’d stayed there each night. But now that the Players’ album was done, he wasn’t even going down to Little Black Hole. He was working in his home studio again, talking to Brick House and his lawyer and listening to music, considering offers from various bands who wanted to work with him.

  I didn’t press him about it. Whatever he wanted to do next with his career was up to him. I’d already asked him enough, and clearly the answer was no. No, he was not joining the Players and going on tour.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever agree that that wasn’t a total mistake, but it wasn’t my decision.

  It was Cary’s life. And if he wasn’t ready to move on with it… there was only so much I could do.

  I was trying to be supportive, and as it turned out that was way fucking harder than I thought it would be. At least, to try to get it right. To balance his needs with my own, and do what I believed was best for him. Best for us. And best for me.