Key Change: A Slow Burn Rockstar Romance (Common Threads Book 3)

by Heidi Hutchinson

  He’d gone over it too many times to count and didn’t find any places where it could use just a little extra or a little less of anything.

  Hannah’s voice blended solidly with Sunshine’s, and her piano skills were enough to make a grown man cry.

  The bell up front rang as someone entered. He listened to Nikki send them back his way.

  He expected it to be a package delivery—he was expecting a box of used pedals that may or may not have been a waste of money.

  But it was Sunshine Capone, without Lord Business this time.

  Johnny stood and they greeted each other with hand clasps and back slaps.

  “How’s it sound?” Sunshine asked, nodding at the board.

  “Let’s hear it.” Johnny queued up the song that he’d listened to more than a hundred times already and let it play.

  Sunshine’s head began to bob along with the beat.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” he said with a grin.

  Hannah’s vocals joined in and Johnny braced for a reaction. He’d turned her up just a fraction, because in his opinion, it sounded better that way.

  “Ooh,” Dave crooned, grooving to it. “Nice.”

  The vocals were crisp, the piano bright, the mixing perfect.

  It was hard for Johnny to admit that about his own work.

  Except he didn’t really feel like he had done anything.

  “I gotta say, Johnny E, it’s better than I expected.”

  Same, Johnny thought, but didn’t say so.

  Sunshine pulled on the weirdly thin beard, deep in thought. “How’s your schedule look for next week?”

  Johnny held his face impassive, determined not to look too eager.

  “I’ll have to ask Nikki what we have booked—”

  “We’re totally free next week!” Nikki hollered down the hall.

  Johnny pressed his lips together and nodded once. “It seems we’re available.”

  Dave thought some more.

  “What about Hannah Lee? Would she be around?”

  The skin on Johnny’s forearm grew hot at the mention. “I’ll have to call her and check.”

  “I wanna do the whole album here. I like the energy. And your people. But only if Hannah can do more backing vocals. Plus her whole vibe stokes my creativity. I need it.”

  “Yeah, sounds good.” Johnny couldn’t believe he was agreeing without making sure. Actually, he couldn’t believe that Hannah had turned herself into someone important in his business in such a short amount of time. With a plot twist he hadn’t seen coming, she’d flipped the power into her hands. And now she basically owned his life, his dream, his future.

  It hadn’t been an accident.

  That much was obvious.

  But neither was he willing to call it fate.

  Sunshine left with Johnny promising to be in touch as soon as he knew if Hannah was available.

  He sat in silence for a solid ten minutes, staring at the empty piano bench where he’d witnessed actual magic just the day before.

  Johnny tilted his neck from side to side, cracking it.

  “Ugh, I hate that sound.”

  He glowered at Nikki. She was the reason he was this tense in the first place.

  “You wanna call Hannah for me? See if she’s able to come in next week?”

  “Why me?” Nikki asked suspiciously. “You never let me call people.”

  That was true. It was because Nikki tended to gab and reveal way too much about all the things.

  On second thought, maybe having her call Hannah wasn’t a good idea anyway.

  Johnny sighed loudly and tugged the sleeve up on his arm, revealing the feminine scrawl along his skin.

  Nikki cackled. “Did she write her number on your arm?” She sank back into the couch cushions and laughed harder. “That’s such a cool move.” She waved a hand at Johnny’s arm. “I mean, look at it. She even writes cool.”

  “Maybe she should have left her number with you,” Johnny quipped.

  “Oh, I wish. What are those? Little x’s?” Nikki squealed. “So hot.”

  Johnny shook his head, unamused. “Get out of here.”

  She jumped up and smacked her gum. “Remember to be nice,” she called over her shoulder.

  Freaking Nikki.

  Johnny pulled out his phone and dialed the numbers.

  He hated this.

  He hated how he felt like he was over a barrel with this.

  He never wanted anything to do with Ashton James ever again.

  And Shawn couldn’t leave well enough alone. One more of those irritating instances that reminded him they shared parents.

  His thumb hovered over the “send” button.

  What was he supposed to tell Shawn?

  It would be impossible to keep him out of the studio if she agreed to do this.

  But maybe she wouldn’t.

  She hadn’t been in the scene in years. Said she wanted to leave it behind…but then the magic that happened yesterday sort of belied her protestations.

  He really needed to stop thinking of it as magic.

  He didn’t believe in magic.

  He believed that if things could go badly, they would.

  So why had yesterday turned out so…great?

  The only way to know if what happened yesterday was real or a fluke was to try it again.

  HANNAH

  The freight elevator was empty when she reached it.

  That was a first.

  She entered and frowned at her reflection in the stainless steel doors as they closed. Should she just wait? Was she supposed to hit a floor? Maybe she was supposed to pick them up?

  She didn’t even know what floor Alex and Quinn lived on.

  Probably not the same floor.

  Right?

  Her stomach lurched in conjunction with the elevator as it began to move.

  Ah, decision made for her.

  The lift stopped and the doors opened to reveal…

  Nothing.

  Well, not nothing. It wasn’t empty space.

  It was a hallway. Like the one she’d come from.

  But no one was there. Just an empty hallway.

  Hannah pursed her lips and took a tentative step out of the safety of the freight elevator.

  She thought she heard muffled noises. Almost…was that kissing?

  Oh, God! Was that what kissing sounded like to other people?

  Wait. Was the kissing consensual?

  She picked up speed as she turned the corner and stopped short.

  “Ah, geez.” She grimaced. “Sorry. I’ll-I-” Garbled noises of no distinction.

  She’d caught Quinn in a clinch.

  And never had she ever had such instant regret.

  The worst part (yes, there were differing horrible parts) was how close she was to them.

  It wasn’t as if she’d come around the corner and Quinn was in a clinch twelve to fifteen feet away. That would have been a safe distance. Still uncomfortable. But not like this.

  Quinn unlocked his lips from the porcelain neck of a redhead and narrowed angry eyes at Hannah.

  Inches.

  That was all that separated them.

  Hannah never frightened easily.

  But if she were being honest, she almost peed her pants.

  And not in a fun way.

  And then, against her very minimal better judgement, she didn’t immediately get back into the elevator. Instead, she took a second look at Quinn’s paramour.

  “Jem?” she asked, the name coming to mind at the same time as the unlikelihood of it actually being Jem.

  Quinn and the redhead both stiffened.

  “Not Jem,” Hannah corrected quickly.

  The redhead emerged from around Quinn’s protective stance and gave Hannah an apologetic smile.

  “No, not Jem. Janie.”

  “My wife,” Quinn growled.

  “Mazel tov.”

  Was this one of those moments normal people felt shame? Embarrassment?
Regret?

  Because Hannah didn’t have that reaction.

  Yes, she regretted walking face-first into a clinch.

  But that was only because she’d never been much of a voyeur. Her regret was for herself and having that image now in her mind. It could surface at any time. Unbidden and unwelcome.

  She didn’t feel apologetic.

  They were the ones clinching in a hallway.

  That he owned.

  Okay, so not exactly public property.

  But still.

  Hannah ran her tongue over her teeth and jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  “I’ll just go.”

  She hit the button and the lift doors opened immediately. When they closed with her inside, she let out a loud groan.

  “Well, that sucked. How else can you make relationships with people a little bit more uncomfortable, James? Because you are nailing it.”

  The doors opened again, and this time Alex and Quinn entered together.

  Alex’s eyes met Hannah’s and he smirked.

  “You call his wife the wrong name?” he asked.

  Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Quinn let the lift begin to move, and then he hit the emergency stop.

  “How do you know Jem Morris?” he asked coldly.

  “Unfortunate life choices.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, weighing her words.

  “You know I was a party girl. She was often a supplier of certain party favors. I’m sure you can guess.” Hannah tucked her hands into her pockets and shrugged. “We weren’t friends. Our circles occasionally overlapped.”

  “That seems to be a trend with you.”

  “Pretty sure that if you tried to map my life, it would be a Venn diagram from hell. You know that game Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon? Yeah, with me—er, Ashton—it was more like two and a half. And the half is almost always a criminal of some kind.”

  Quinn measured her reply with his usual stoic judgment.

  Whether he believed her or not didn’t matter. She was telling the truth. Whatever issues he had with Jem were his. She didn’t have anything to do with that life anymore.

  Speaking of Life Before…

  “I decided I’ll do the backing vocals for DBS. I found a…studio here in town where I think I can do it without anyone finding out.”

  “Do you mind if Sandra makes the call? She really likes to role play.” Alex blushed and averted his eyes. “I mean—”

  “I didn’t ask, my dude,” Hannah stopped him. Quinn looked relieved she had.

  “How are things with the Enamorado family?” Quinn asked. “The check hasn’t been cashed.”

  Not exactly a surprise.

  “He refused the money, but he still has the check. I think I’ve made a deal that should keep him quiet for a while, though.”

  She explained to them what had happened with Sunshine. And even though it was only the second time telling the story, it still felt strange. Maybe it was because being in the studio and working and creating had come back to her so naturally.

  Which had the undercurrent of terror running through it.

  The last thing she wanted was to get trapped in another habitual pattern of self-destruction. But one song was hardly a pattern.

  Besides, Johnny had been very clear about not wanting her around.

  “What about the kid?”

  “The kid doesn’t know, I don’t think.” She pinched her lower lip, remembering Johnny’s protectiveness. “I got the feeling that Johnny doesn’t want me around his little brother. So I imagine he’ll keep my recent and temporary return to music from him too.”

  “Good. The fewer people who know, the easier it is to contain.”

  “So far, there’s no buzz. Not even a hint that you’re here or even alive.” Alex smiled lopsidedly. “I started a Tumblr account making up conspiracy theories about you. Right now, people think you may have been an alien and you’ve been called home.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hannah agreed.

  As long as no one came looking for her, Piper would be safe.

  And the longer Piper was safe, the better.

  “What about your time in the studio?” Quinn asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Will you be needing access to it, or anything similar in the future? Outside of the DBS backing vocals, that is. Or is it a one-off?”

  She tapped her chin with her finger. Her feelings on the matter were somewhat foggy. She needed to sort through them. But she also needed guidance in doing so. “I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow. I’m going to ask her what she thinks.”

  When her phone rang at six o’clock that night, she was making dinner.

  Chicken alfredo. Homemade.

  Because cooking had proved itself to be a healthy distraction. She wasn’t ever going to be someone who liked to cook as a hobby. But that was because she abhorred doing dishes. And the more cooking/baking/sautéing you did, the more dishes got dirtied.

  And washing dishes was not a happy hobby for her.

  Not to say she wouldn’t wash her own dishes. But why do more than necessary?

  The phone rang as she was stirring the cream sauce.

  A glance at the caller ID told her nothing. It was a local number with the same number prefix as the school. Which was why she answered it. The school loved to send out automated calls at dinner time.

  “Hello?”

  She hit the speaker button and set the phone on the counter, ready to listen to whatever message they had for her this week. Flower fundraiser? Early out next week for a staff meeting?

  “H-Hannah?”

  What was this? A real person?

  “Yeah…?”

  “It’s…it’s Johnny…Enamorado Torres.”

  “Oh, shit,” she said without thinking.

  He chuckled and the pleasant sound caused her heart to pound.

  Just the one.

  One extra heavy pound.

  Not even enough to be noticed, except that she noticed.

  “I’m kind of surprised you gave me your real number. Considering how much your privacy means to you.”

  You’re not the only one, buddy, she thought with an eye roll.

  “Did everything turn out okay?” she asked. “With the song? Do you need me to come down and redo anything?” she asked, quickly getting to the point. The sooner she got off the phone, the better.

  Right?

  He cleared his throat and she could picture his tightly knit black eyebrows and the crease between his forehead.

  “No, the song is actually, uh, perfect.”

  Perfect?

  Warmth hit her chest and she smiled widely into the cream sauce, happy no one else was around to see her happy expression.

  “Oh,” she said, proud of how indifferent it came out.

  “Yeah. Sunshine likes it so much he wants to do the whole record here. With me.”

  “That’s great!” she declared, knowing what a big deal that was for him.

  He laughed softly. “Yeah. It is really great.”

  “Is that why you called?” she asked, her chest getting tight. Was this a thank-you call? He’d already thanked her once at the studio and she’d almost frozen up. Another thank-you? That was bordering on excessive.

  How should she respond? With nonchalance and cool girl grace? Smug self-assurance?

  Maybe she could just hang up.

  She had no idea what the right reaction would be.

  “Yes and no,” he said begrudgingly.

  Oh. So, no thank-you.

  That was fine.

  Cool.

  No, really, it was better that way. She didn’t know how to respond to gratitude anyway. For crying out loud, she’d almost just panic-ended the call.

  “There’s a caveat,” Johnny continued cautiously. “Sunshine will only record if you’re available to be on the record as well. Apparently,” he said sardonically, “he seems to think you have some talent. And would like to work with
you more.”

  Hannah grinned.

  He was asking her for a favor!

  This was great!

  Then he’d really, really owe her.

  He’d owe her for so many things!

  But she stayed silent. She was not going to offer.

  If he wanted this, he was going to have to ask.

  After a minute of silence, he cleared his throat.

  “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” He sounded truly indignant.

  And it delighted her.

  Hey, change took time.

  Being a good person came in ebbs and flows.

  This was obviously an ebb.

  A leopard can’t change its spots overnight.

  And to tell the truth, Hannah wasn’t sure her spots would ever go away.

  “Hannah Lee, would you please join me in making an album for Sunshine Capone? Nothing would make me happier,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Ha ha,” she mocked. “You need me.”

  Johnny sniffed a humorless laugh.

  “Somehow I knew you’d love this,” he said darkly.

  “You hate me so much,” she declared happily. Which might seem weird to someone else, but Hannah was loving it. “How much did it hurt to have to call me?”

  “A lot, actually,” he responded flatly, sounding just as disgruntled as she was picturing him.

  And color her even more surprised, she was all about it.

  Something about his open and honest dislike for her, but knowing he also wouldn’t be able to sell her out to the media, created a new and fun dynamic.

  It was the most authentic form of trust she’d ever had outside of her and Piper.

  “Listen, I know this is great fun for you,” he said around her cackles, “but I need to know if you’ll do this.”

  “Oh, yeah. For sure,” she agreed wholeheartedly. She dipped a spoon in the cream sauce and tasted it. Perfect.

  “Really?”

  “Fuck yeah,” she replied smugly. “When do you want me there?”

  “I hope I don’t regret this,” he muttered. “Can you come in tomorrow, say, eleven? And we’ll go over ideas and the studio space.”

  “Sure. I have an appointment in the morning, and then I’ll just take my PTO at work. I’ve been saving it. Might as well use it now.”

  “You have a job?”

  She screwed up her face and glared at the phone. “Yes, I have a job. I happen to be a productive member of society.”