by KC Enders
“Plus what, doll?” Charlie asks.
“Forget it. Nothing.” I wrap the ribbons around my shoes and pack everything into my tote bag.
He hums his displeasure at my lack of response. “Come, then. Let’s have a bite to eat, perhaps a cocktail. I feel as though it has been an age since we have had a proper chat.”
I peer at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and raise an eyebrow at the stark contrast between Charlie and me. Him, dapper and put together as always. Me, in dance clothes, wild-eyed and more than a bit sweaty.
“You look perfectly fine, darling. We will keep it casual, then, shall we?”
Charlie reaches for my hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow, and leads me out of the studio. At the front desk, he pauses to speak with the receptionist. “Should Mr. Calloway come in, please relay to him that I will be stealing this beautiful creature for the evening. Thank you, my dear.”
And with that, Charlie guides me out the door and down the sidewalk to the little Spanish bistro around the corner.
19
HALESTORM
NATE
“So, we’re recording this fully in New York, right?”
I relax back into my seat, thrilled that Gavin is the one to ask the question that’s been high in my mind through this entire waste of a meeting.
As is completely his way, Kane is sprawled out on the conference table, flat on his back, while the rest of us act like adults. His antics aren’t all that bad compared to what I’ve heard about other bands and how they behave, but it’s so not necessary. It’s ridiculous.
Rand nods his head, snapping his gum loudly as he does. “Yeah. I mean, mostly. Engineering will still be done in LA.”
“We want to make sure we have consistency with the last album. So, I’ve booked Danny to mix it,” Vince adds. He might think he’s being helpful, but at this point, half the band is invested in staying on the East Coast.
“How long did you book him for?” I ask, already running through the amount of time I’ll be playing over the next couple of weeks.
Sure, I’ve played daily for Alex, but as childish as it sounds, it’s different. The instrument will be different, the stress on my hand, the sheer intensity of the play.
Vince scrolls through his tablet before answering, “Ten days.”
Gavin and I make eye contact across the table—over Kane’s head, to be specific. And there’s no missing the fact that even after all this time, after everything that’s happened, Kane still looks to Gavin, gauging his reaction.
“Right. So, coming off the last tour and knowing that we’re hitting it again with the new stuff, I want to be home as much as possible.” Gavin rocks back in his chair. “I, uh … I have things to do here. A wedding to plan and shit.”
While the rest of us nod in understanding, Kane’s head jerks like he’s been slapped. “Isn’t that the bride’s thing? Her and her mom? I thought you just had to show up relatively sober and agree to a lifetime of servitude.” He scoffs.
Gavin shakes his head. “No, dude. Not at all and sure as fuck not with Gracyn’s family. Hell, her brother might be the only family member even invited. I’m not dumping all of this in her lap. I plan on being involved.”
“Noted,” Vince says, tapping away at his tablet, as Kane mutters, “Fuck,” under his breath.
Yeah, that’s not at all uncomfortable.
Rand, ever the master of trying to defuse awkward, claps his hands and rubs them together like a cartoon villain mid-planning session. “Excellent. Okay, let’s adjourn, and we’ll hit the details this weekend up at Gavin’s place. Vince, you’re going to love it. Nature as far as the eye can see, and the air is so clean that it hurts to breathe it. You’ll love it; you’ll absolutely love it.”
We push back and are jolted by Kane suddenly lurching himself from the table. He smooths the front of his jacket and shoves a hand through his perfectly coiffed black hair as he stalks wordlessly from the conference room.
“Somebody’s got his panties in a twist.” It’s the first Ian’s spoken the entire time we’ve been here. He’s usually pretty quiet, but this is extreme, even for him, especially given how he’s been all over the place lately.
And almost as soon as he utters the words, his gaze drops to his phone, and he turns his back to us and taps away, scowling the entire time.
“You ever figure out what’s up with him?” Gavin asks as I round the table.
Neither of us want to be here, so we haul ass to get out of this building as quickly as we can.
“Nope. But he’s seriously cagey when I ask about anything.” I push open the door, ready to be on my way. “What about Kane? He’s a little more special than usual.”
Gavin huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Fucking Kane, man. I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what his problem is.”
We all do. Kane’s fantasy of Gavin walking away from Gracyn and falling for him is undeniably crumbling around him.
“Anyway, so when are you coming up?” Nothing like a subtle subject change.
“Early Saturday, I guess. I already missed working with Alex today. I don’t want to blow her off tomorrow too.”
This stupid meeting lasted way longer than it needed to. There’s probably no way I’ll be able to catch Alex before she leaves the arts center. But I can fucking try.
I try to step around Gavin, but he stops me before I can get too far.
“So, Gracyn and I were talking—”
“Dude, we can totally talk about wedding shit this weekend. I gotta see if I can catch Alex before she bolts.” I step to the side.
Gavin mirrors my movement, stopping me again. “Shut up. We want you to come up and hang with us. Bring Alex and stay for a couple of days,” Gavin offers. “Gracyn’s heard enough about her, and now that, you know, you guys are at it again … I mean, she’s here to stay now, right?”
I shift, almost uncomfortable at the thought that maybe this isn’t something that can last. How can it? We’re both solidly entrenched in our careers with not much room for anything else, honestly. And to say our careers are fucking demanding is almost an understatement.
I shove my hand through my hair, realizing I left my ball cap in the conference room. I’ve got to go back for it. No way I’m trucking through the city without something I can hide behind.
There goes whatever hope I had of trying to snag Alex and watching the incontrovertible beauty she creates with her body.
I force myself to slow down and respond, “What are you thinking?”
A smile stretches across Gavin’s face. “Come up tomorrow. Stay in our guesthouse, show her around Beekman Hills. She and Gracyn can hang while we work on some new stuff. You need to get out of the city and relax a minute, man. And Alex with Gracyn … G’s friends at the pub, man.” He shoots me a solid side-eye. “She’d have a blast.”
It’s true. I’ve spent some time in that little place that Gracyn works in. It’s fantastic—old-school Irish pub with an authentic vibe, staffed by bartenders straight out of Ireland. Most weekends, it’s packed wall to wall with college kids. The guys playing pool or darts and the girls falling all over themselves for the Irish accents. Though I happen to know that two of those guys are very happily committed to their wives—or girlfriends at the very least. The others I don’t consider competition at all. Alex has better taste.
My curls bounce around my face as I nod. “I’ll talk to her. She’s got shit coming up again with the ballet, but I’ll see what I can swing.”
“A’ight, brother. Let me know when y’all are coming.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to him, bumping my chest and thumping me on the back.
I turn and weave my way through the halls of the label’s offices, back toward the conference room. I round the corner and see my ball cap on the floor next to the chair I vacated.
I snag my hat and turn tail, retracing my steps. I pull up short at the sound of Rand and Vince talking. It wouldn�
�t faze me, except for the flippant statement from Vince.
“Figure it out. You’re the manager, man. If one of them needs to go, make it happen.”
“I-I don’t know. How d-d-do I …”
“Don’t give a shit. Like I said, figure it out.”
I am well aware that The UnBroken is not the only band that Rand represents, and we are certainly not the only ones making coin for the label. They could be talking about another band, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel that way.
The way Kane is acting, the push to mix this album in LA, the general vibe in that conference room. Things are starting to spiral. Spin out of control and scatter.
Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like after our launch up the charts, we should be settling into our star status. Working together in spite of our differences because, for the love of fucks, the money—the freedom it brings—should be enough of an enticement. Instead, we seem to be fighting against it.
I move toward Rand’s office, but his assistant pushes past me, ducking into the room and shutting the door behind him.
One more thing I need to dig into this weekend up at Gavin’s place.
Outside, I step into my Uber, nodding when the guy asks if I’m Alex Calloway.
I don’t bother telling him to hurry, to step on it, none of that. It’s Thursday evening, and fucking everyone is either trying to get home from work or trying to make it to happy hour. There’s no such thing as getting anywhere fast at this time of day.
So, I sit back and screw my earbuds into my ears. I queue up the playlist of all the pieces Alex and I have played and danced to. Every one of them meaningful and full of passion. Every one of them with a story.
Though I’m ninety-eight percent sure she’s no longer there, I have the Uber drop me at the center.
Julie’s behind the front desk, firmly entrenched in whatever she’s working on. Sometimes, I wonder if the girl ever leaves and goes home.
I skirt by her and head down the hall to the room Alex and I have spent so much time in over the past several weeks.
The lights are off, and the door is closed. I expected as much, but that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed.
I stroll back toward the lobby of the center and am halfway out the door when Julie calls out, “Mr. Sinclair left a message for you. Something about stealing that chick you’re always here with. The one with the hair?” She waves a hand around the top of her head and sneers.
She has lost her mind, obviously, because there is so much wrong with everything that just came out of her mouth. Charles did not steal Alex. Stole her away while I was dealing with stupid shit—I’d believe that. Maybe.
And chick? Is Julie suddenly a douchey frat boy? Jesus, I thought that was strictly a guy term. And there is not a goddamn thing wrong with Alex’s hair. Her wild curls and brilliant color are such a fantastic contrast to the buttoned-up, slick-haired ballerina she is in her other life.
I stare at the receptionist for far longer than I really need to—far longer than is polite at the very least—before I thank her and skip down the stairs to the sidewalk. I could go straight home, have some leftovers for dinner or order something in, but I could so go for some tapas. So, I hang a left, going in the opposite direction from my house, scrolling through the menu.
As I step up to the hostess desk to place my to-go order, the chick with the hair rounds the corner from the dining room and walks right into me.
I seal her in my arms and hold on tight. Because I missed her today. Because I have loved spending all these weeks with her, seeing her every day. Because I have at least ten days coming up that I’m going to have to be on the other side of the country, away from her.
Maybe Gavin is right. Maybe I need to take this weekend and ferry her away. Wrap myself up in her. Lose myself in her. Shut the rest of the world away.
She gasps at the familiarity of my embrace, and when she tilts her head back to meet my gaze, her eyes light up, and she smiles so big that her freckles become almost indistinguishable. “Hey,” she says on a breath.
“Hey. You look happy.”
“I am. Completely, blissfully happy to see you.”
Her delicate fingers press into the planes of my chest. That simple action makes my dick chub up and my nipples hard. Neither reaction escapes her notice.
“Are you? Sure it’s not the sangria?” I dip down and take her mouth in a kiss that borders on inappropriate, but I need to taste the sweet wine on her lips.
“Nathaniel,” Charles greets, interrupting us before I jump that border of indecency and devour her here in the restaurant.
I reach out to shake my friend’s hand, guiding Alex out of the bistro in front of me.
“Were you coming for me, or did you need to get something to eat?” Alex asks as Charles bids us farewell. When she realizes he’s walking away, Alex leans around me and calls out, “Thanks, Charlie.”
He tips his hat and saunters down the sidewalk, leaving us alone.
Alex turns back to me and slides her hand around the crook of my arm, squeezing my bicep more than a little. I love that she loves my arms, that she appreciates the work I put in down in my gym.
“How did your meeting go?” she asks before pulling me to a stop. “Wait, food.”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth and take in her perfectly Alex features. The blush on her cheeks, the bow of her lips, the barely tamed wildness in her. Her passion.
“Come away with me—up to Gavin’s place. Let’s just take this weekend before things get crazy with ballet and with recording and run away.”
Indecision dims her eyes and straightens her spine. Time ticks away, a million more seconds than I care to think about.
I can’t help but beg her, “Please. Say you will.” So much for guarding my heart.
It’s out of the blue—I know it is. We’ve spent a handful of nights together; we haven’t discussed how we’re going to deal with both of us going back to our jobs. But I want this. I need it. I need Alex to take these few days for me, for us.
“Okay.”
The word is barely out of her mouth, and I crash my lips to hers, stealing anything else she might have to say as I breathe her in.
20
RED
ALEXIS
Somewhere between sadness, sangria, stumbling into Nate last night, I ended up on this twisty, turning highway north of Manhattan. And it’s beautiful.
Dense, lush green trees line the lanes, separating us from those heading toward the city.
The click, click, click of the blinker is the only indication that there’s a turn coming up ahead. With a left, including a precarious pedal-to-the-metal crossing of the southbound lanes, we’re suddenly off the parkway and winding down a country lane. Split-rail fences corral horses on one side of the road and small reddish cows on the other.
“I think those are the cutest things I have ever seen.” I grab on to the back of the driver’s seat and twist to keep the little cows in my sight for as long as possible. “They’re like a cross between a golden retriever and a longhorn that needs a haircut.”
Nate smiles wide, his low laugh sending zings of awareness down my spine. “They’re Scottish highland cows. Gavin’s thinking of getting a couple of the miniatures.”
“Shut up.” I know I sound like an idiot, but they are so damn cute.
“Yeah.” Nate nods, pointing to the next set of fencing on my side of the road. A smaller version peers out as we drive by, its pink tongue swiping out and curling up over a slightly darker pink nose. “With another tour coming up and their wedding though”—he rocks his head back and forth—“he’s not sure now is the time to make that kind of commitment.”
“He should totally do it. They’re little enough; he could probably kennel them for the honeymoon. Or you could pop them in the back and drive them down to your place, and I can cow-sit while y’all are gone.”
We could easily fit two in the back of his SUV.
“In the city? Right, and t
ending to them around your dance schedule would totally work,” he agrees sarcastically.
He’s right though. My schedule is about to bypass crazy and go straight to insane. I feel a shit-ton of guilt, taking this weekend away from the studio, from practice and preparation for diving back in this coming week.
The car slows, turning into a gravel lane lined with more split-rail fencing.
“Is this the road he lives on?”
The car lurches over a dip in the road, and Nate laughs, his hand shooting out to clasp my thigh. “Sweet thing, this is his driveway.”
We wind down the lane, over a stone bridge. Finally, as we round a curve, the white farmhouse comes into view.
“Holy shit,” drips from my lips as my gaze darts from the house to the stone-based barn to the twin guesthouses—miniature versions of the main house—flanking an inground pool. “This is unreal.”
“Hang tight,” he says, parking the car next to the barn.
He hops out and grabs our bags from the back. While I struggle to shove my snacks and travel cup into my tote, Nate comes around and opens my door for me. I missed these manners. I missed them a lot.
I reach to take my bag from him, but he scoffs and shifts it to the other hand, so he can twine his fingers together with mine.
A beautiful woman with long blonde hair that almost matches Gavin’s opens the door wide. “Come in, come in. I’m so glad you came up early.” She leans in and pecks Nate on the cheek. “Why don’t you take that out to the guesthouse and—”
“Holy shit. It’s Tiny Dancer in the flesh. TD, give me some love,” Gavin bellows as he rounds the corner. He scoops me up and swings me back and forth. “Alexis Thompson. How the hell are you?” He sets me down and gathers his hair, tying it at the back of his head.
My eyes sparkle with joy, and I can’t help but laugh at him. At how much he’s changed from the last time I saw him. He’s domesticated. All he needs are a handful of mini cows and a couple of blond-haired babies running circles around him.
