A grin tugs at his lips, and he raises a hand in the air, signaling his bandmates. “This one’s for you, pretty girl.”
The ballad feels like a smooth caress over my skin, his baritone voice flooding the speakers and sending a shiver down my spine.
Launching into a sensual number, I barely even hear the lyrics over his declaration. It repeats on a loop in my brain, tuning itself to the music he plays, and I’m struggling to process it.
Fiona’s hand falls from my knee. “Did he just tell the entire world that he’s in love with you?”
I stare at the television, but everything’s blurry now. Emotion ratchets up my sternum, warmth spreading from my heart outward, filling me with that same nostalgic sensation I got when he first took the stage.
Like missing home. Weird that I didn’t realize until now that I’ve been going without.
Still, I sputter, shaking my head. My instincts say to write it off, deflect the reality he’s trying to push on me. A month ago, he wanted me to suffer. This morning, he left because of his show, and instead of telling me any of this to my face, he chooses a stage with millions of people.
Sane humans don’t do that.
A sane, morally upright person would tell the girl before announcing it to the world.
Right?
“He’s crazy,” I say, a nervous laugh pushing past my lips.
The television goes black, silence filling the air. Fiona and I blink at each other, then whirl around to see Kal standing behind the sofa, his jaw set in a harsh line.
But his eyes seem soft at the edges.
“He’s not crazy.” He drops a backup remote onto the sofa and points at me with a long finger. “He’s in love.”
My eyes narrow. “It could easily be a stupid publicity stunt.”
“At the same time he announced his retirement? Odd strategy, but I suppose if you’re trying to garner interest, perhaps that could work.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Kal shrugs, impassive as ever. “If there’s even a tiny part of you that feels the same way, though, you should go to him.”
“Go to him? What is this, the end of a romantic comedy blockbuster?”
He smirks, seeming to get lost in his thoughts for the briefest second. “Waiting is the worst part. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
My mouth parts, ready to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but then he sweeps from the room, leaving just me and Fiona. She meets my eyes and lifts a shoulder, moving to lean her back against the couch.
“I don’t know about all that,” she says, taking the remote and switching the television back on. “But I do know what love looks like, and I’ll tell you this: I’ve never seen it shine as bright in anyone’s eyes as it did the morning we walked in on you two together. Do with that information what you will.”
When I’m in bed later, I toss and turn for hours, trying to figure out what I want to do with that information.
Is it completely fucked to find comfort and trust in the arms of a man who once hurt you?
A criminal.
For all intents and purposes, that’s what Aiden is.
He’s not a good guy by any stretch of the word, and yet neither is my brother. Or his friends.
Or Kal.
Maybe it doesn’t matter how society paints them, or what stains mar their pasts.
Maybe what matters is the lengths they’re willing to go for the people they love.
While the rest of the cabin sleeps, I slip into my boots, not bothering to change out of my pajamas, and pad downstairs. I grab my purse off the island counter, disarm the security system, and am trying to book a flight to New York as I step out onto the porch.
My thumb hits the checkout button as soon as my feet clear the threshold. I don’t feel the presence at my side, don’t feel the hands reaching to silence me until it’s too late.
And then, I don’t feel anything.
45
“I understand he just signed another contract with us. Clearly, he’ll be buying himself out of it.”
My father glares at me from across the dining room table, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes as he speaks into his Bluetooth earpiece. Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my head toward the ceiling and turn the guitar pick in my hand, smoothing my thumb over the engraving on the front.
Aiden James Fan Club.
A smile plays at my lips when I recall Riley’s rushed admission one night about how she’d run the online fandom for years.
My number one stalker, existing right under my nose. No wonder it was so easy to curate an obsession with her; kindred souls call to one another, and who better to understand me than someone who’s been in my shoes?
It’s more than that, though; hot lust and volatile emotions that at some point gave way to real affection and an attraction magnetic fields would be envious of.
I tried to do the valiant and noble thing, aware that I don’t deserve her. Aware that I hurt and violated her, without remorse. Knowing we have a million different things to work through, and our lives to figure out.
But the confession had just poured out of me as soon as I saw the custom pick, and like a torrential downpour, I flooded the earth with my feelings.
A gesture I’m hoping is enough to bring her to me.
My father hangs up his phone, slinging the Bluetooth onto the table. “The next time you decide to make a major life-changing announcement, maybe at least discuss it with me first.”
“Well, I didn’t know when I went up there that I was going to be doing that.”
“That’s not better, son.” Sighing heavily, he drags a palm down his face. “If anything, that proves how fucking impulsive the decision was.”
Dropping the guitar pick on the table, I steeple my fingers together. The halo tattoo I got three years ago on the underside of my thumb winks up at me, and I shrug, wishing I had something more to tell him. Something better that would benefit everyone involved.
But the fact of the matter is, finding something that benefits the James family is what I’ve been doing since the start of my career. The rock star brand was our saving grace when I got signed onto Symposium, giving the three of us tasks to do and things to focus on outside of our misery.
The difference between the last time I took the stage before my hiatus and when I was up there tonight was staggering. Not only in the renewed sense of passion and energy I felt, but in the actual creative material.
I got stagnant before my break. My love for music was overshadowed by fatigue, drinking, and sadness. Symptoms of an illness I was trying to cure by ignoring completely.
My muse was tired, so I set her free.
Now, she can rest for good knowing she served me well. Knowing someone else inspires me now.
“You’re throwing everything away that you worked so hard for,” my father says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For a girl. A girl who quite literally ruined your life.”
“Guess so.”
“What happened to exposing her? To reclaiming your innocence and fixing your public image?”
“I told you I didn’t want to do that anymore. I’m not interested in further traumatizing someone who was, inevitably, a victim of the same shit that I was. She just couldn’t be vocal about it.”
His face hardens. “So, what? She tells you a sob story, and you’re keen on believing it without any proof? What, is her pussy made of magic or something?”