by Magan Vernon
“Pam told me she offered to read something you were working on and send it to one of her friends in publishing. She didn’t think much of it until she read details of a Justin Edwards having sex with the highest bidder, and orgies with his writer girlfriend and the couple at the bakery.”
“Well, the bakery was for cross promotion for my other series,” I muttered.
Eddie sat straight up and turned sharply toward me. “Did you really think you could sell that shit to a publisher? What if people read that and thought I was really like that?”
I shrugged. “It’s fiction. Smut, really. People like the juicer stuff. No one would actually believe any of that was real.”
“Oh, like us having sex in the shower and breaking it? I’m sure your brother would enjoy reading that little tidbit and believe it’s fiction.”
I finally sat up, rubbing my eyes. “I really don’t see the big deal. You know I write this kind of stuff. Not like many people buy my books anyway so it wouldn’t matter what I wrote.”
Eddie huffed. “And you don’t think this would be the big break you’ve been dreaming about forever? That maybe you could ride on your neighbor’s coattails, and get all the sex and stardom that comes with being a country singer’s girlfriend?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What the fuck, Eddie? You think I’m using you to get book sales? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been around since before you were this bigheaded country music star with girls throwing their panties on stage. This is what I do. I write smut. You’re the sex symbol, and I’m the smut writer.”
He shook his head, licking his bottom lip. If I wasn’t so pissed off, I would find the move sexy. “No, Brooke. This is bullshit, and you know it. You complained about the church lady rumors, but then you go and make up your own. As if I didn’t already have enough shit to deal with in the media, now I have to add my former best friend trying to sell some smutty memoir.”
I widened my eyes, every part of my body now on fire from anger. “So now I’m just the former best friend out to score a buck? That’s some petty shit, Eddie.”
“Is it, though? You’re the one trying to ruin my career just to write some stupid book,” he spat.
“Me? Ruin your career? No, that would be your ex-fiancée with the sex tape, and you know I probably can’t even blame her. She probably got tired of you spending all your time playing shows, passing out, and then listening to whatever your uptight publicist said. If this is what my former best friend, Eddie Jahid, has turned into, then maybe I don’t want anything to do with Eddie Justice.” I knew I didn’t mean all of those words, but in the heat of the moment, I knew exactly how to hurt him and let go of all the hurt and anger I’d had buried the past ten years.
Before Eddie could respond, I rolled down the privacy screen. “Please drop me off at my house and then take Eddie back to the ranch.”
“Brooke, we’re not done talking,” Eddie whispered through gritted teeth.
“I am,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and looking out the window so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
I expected him to take me into his arms and apologize. For us to have some kind of amazing make-up sex in the back of the limo. But none of that would have happened with my best friend, Eddie Jahid, and none of that was going to happen with country music superstar Eddie Justice.
Part Two
Eddie
Chapter 17
“This could be your final dinner at Conti’s,” Mom said, pouring the olive oil on her plate then covering the little yellow puddle with a ton of parmesan cheese before dipping the homemade bread in it.
“I’m sure I’ll be back. This is the best restaurant in Texas. Where else will we go for dinner when I visit?” I asked, flashing the smile that seemed to put everyone at ease. I think that smile won the DJs over at HJBS who were sending me to Nashville.
“Think you’re going to live on your own in some mansion now in Tennessee?” Dad asked, raising one of his thick eyebrows.
“I mean, probably not in the first year, but once I’m the next George Strait, maybe,” I said, beaming. For the first time, I felt confident in my music. I might have been the best baritone in the church choir and our small high school, but there was nothing like getting recognition from Dallas DJs who were sending me to Nashville to meet with producers. Sure, like Brooke had said, this could all crash and burn, but I had to hope that my years of loving music more than anything and devoting my time to it had to be worth something. Even if it meant leaving my family and the girl I was pretty sure I’d been in love with forever.
I knew that if this didn’t work out, I might still be the laughing stock of Friendship, but I knew Brooke would still dust me off and, after a few jabs, make me a drink from her dad’s liquor cabinet, and we’d have a good laugh.
And if things did work out, and I was the next big name in country, then maybe I’d finally have the balls to come back and tell her how I felt.
“More bread for the superstar,” Mr. Conti said, bringing a fresh basket of homemade bread to the table.
The whole Conti family was straight-off-the-boat Sicilians, and Mr. Conti was the patriarch, even though he was barely over five-foot with a bald spot and a mustache that rivaled Mario and Luigi.
“Not a superstar yet, Mr. Conti. I still have to survive Nashville,” I said, trying to stay humble because, even though I put up a big front from my parents, I didn’t want to be the cocky SOB in front of the town. Who knew when I’d have to come back.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I mumbled, pushing the red plastic chair back and standing.
“Yell before you go in. Dana may still be cleaning it,” Mr. Conti said as I walked away from the table.
“Hello. Man coming in the restroom,” I yelled, pushing the wooden door, the tiny porthole depicting a stained glass portrait of the Sicilian flag.
Nicky Conti squatted over one of the urinals. Even crouched down, he was still a hulk of a guy with his tan arms bulging out of his white t-shirt. He’d had a mustache since we were in the sixth grade and still had the hairiest back of any guy in Friendship High School.
“Man ... you’re a funny guy, Jahid,” Nicky said, standing and throwing a sponge in a bucket.
“Um ... okay ...” I said, unsure of what else to say.
I was a decent size—skinny, but six-foot-two. Even at my size, Nicky towered over me in stature and presence.
He slowly walked toward me wearing a scowl that could have made a grown man shit his pants.
“Brooke’s not working tonight, or I’m sure she’d ask for your table,” he said, his expression still stoic.
“I know. I was gonna meet up with her tonight after dinner,” I said, my eyes looking everywhere but at the scowling Nicky.
“You gonna finally tell her you like her, or are you going to let her be miserable and chase after you forever?”
I gulped, finally meeting his steely gaze. “Um, what?”
A small smile cracked Nicky’s face. “C’mon, Jahid, I’m not stupid, even though my SATs may say something different. Brooke Carrington’s been in love with you since you were born, and if you weren’t so thick headed, you’d see she’s an amazing girl and stop leading her on.”
“Does Dana know you’re hitting on Brooke?” I asked, trying to smile but ending up dropping it as soon as Nicky narrowed his eyes.
Dana and Nicky had been boyfriend and girlfriend since we knew there was such a thing in second grade. The tiny little blonde girl followed the hulking guy everywhere he went, and I figured they’d be engaged before high school graduation.
“Don’t change the subject, Jahid. You may now be Eddie Justice, country superstar, but to that girl, you’ll always be Eddie, the boy next door. The one she stares at starry-eyed. No matter how big you get or how hard you fall ...” Nicky took another step forward, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. “And you will fall, Jahid. She’s going to be the one there to catch you. So don’t fuck up h
er heart. Capiche?”
I didn’t know what answer he was looking for or what to even say. I’d had a crush on Brooke forever, but I wasn’t the best at talking to girls, and every time I realized that I did have feelings for her, it would be too late, and one of us would be with someone. Now that I was leaving, there was no point in telling her. Unless I knew she was going to end up in Nashville with me, Nicky was right; I couldn’t break her heart.
I nodded, swallowing hard before Nicky patted my back and left the bathroom. Leaving me with my own thoughts and wondering where in the hell I was going to go next.
When I left Friendship, Texas, for a bright future in Nashville, I never thought I’d go back.
I hated everything about the small town that made the skinny kid with a foreign last name the target for incessant bullying.
The only thing I ever regretted leaving behind was Brooke Carrington, my next-door neighbor and the girl I’d carried a candle for all my life.
It wasn’t hard to come up with songs about missing a girl back home, and once the producers in Nashville let me record my own music, I was soon sailing up the country music charts and into the panties of just about any actress or singer who would let me. As my stardom rose, I started working with a publicist from the agency that represented my music. She hooked me up with a stylist, gym membership, and a team of hairdressers. By the time I was twenty, I had two number-one hits and a body to match my new superstar persona.
I thought about reaching out to Brooke so many times. Late at night, I would scroll through Baylor’s website and Facebook, looking at pictures of Brooke in her theater productions or with her friends on campus instead of working on new music. I could have done something less creepy, but after years of not talking I didn’t even know how to approach her.
As much as it sucked, Mary’s cheating and the untimely passing of Brooke’s dad was like the universe trying to bring us back together in Friendship.
Of course, I thought it meant we were supposed to finally figure us out. We’d both changed, but I didn’t expect her to change so much that she’d sell me out and make up blatant lies to sell a book.
I watched Brooke practically fall out of the limo and run toward her house. I should have followed her, but I was too pissed off. I figured I’d get back to my parents, take a hot shower, and sit down with my guitar before I even thought about my next move.
It was early afternoon, so Dad was still working on the ranch, but Mom sat at the kitchen table, going through some receipts and entering them into the computer.
“Don’t you have some fancy office for that, or does your son need to build you a new one?” I asked, leaning on the doorframe.
Mom looked up from the computer, pushing her glasses onto the bridge of her nose as a smile crossed her face. “You know I’ve always preferred the kitchen table. There’s a better view.” She motioned toward the patio door that looked out to the horse barn and grazing field behind it.
“I reckon you’re right,” I said, taking the seat across from her.
“I was just about to take a break. Want some sheet cake? Just baked it this morning. It’s supposed to be for after dinner, but one little slice won’t hurt.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mom. That sounds great.”
Mom patted my hand before she got up from the table and cupboard doors opened and shut behind me. “So how was Austin? Did you and Brooke have a good time?”
I winced. “Yeah. The show was great. Stan thinks the recording will be a hit, and we can sell it through the website after the producers and sound teams get through it.”
Mom frowned, setting a slice of Texas sheet cake and a big glass of milk in front of me before she sat down in her seat. “You didn’t answer my question, Edward, which makes me think something happened with you and Brooke.”
Mom was always perceptive. She could tell when I was lying the minute she looked at my eyes. It was why I avoided her most of my teen years until I went to Nashville.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “We’re just two different people now is all, Mom. Hell, it’s been ten years since I’ve seen her, and we’ve both changed.”
Mom raised her eyebrows, and I looked down, focusing on my sheet cake and shoveling a huge piece into my mouth.
“So what you’re telling me is that you fucked up and broke that girl’s heart again?”
I almost choked on my cake and took a big gulp of milk to wash it down. I cleared my throat before looking at my mom’s serious face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word, Mom.”
My mom spent the first year in Nashville with me when I was starting out, but once I began touring, she went back to Texas. Eventually, I bought my own place in Nashville where my parents would visit on occasion. In all of those years, I’d always thought my mom looked more reserved. Her once full of life demeanor had faded, and she had a permanent scowl that she had to force into a smile. On the ranch, she was at ease. Her shoulder-length brown hair, now peppered with gray, and the smile back on her still flawless face.
“Don’t change the subject, Edward Francis. You and Brooke had a tiff, just like y’all used to when you were kids, but somehow, I think this one is more than just you pulling her hair or dunking her under in the pond.”
I sighed, raking my hands through my hair. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“What’s complicated? That y’all have been in love since you were in diapers, and now are too scared to try anything new, or did you let fame go to your head and forget about the poor girl next door?”
“What? You of all people, Mom, should know that I’m as humble as all get-out. Maybe one of the most down-to-earth guys on the scene right now,” I said, trying to defend myself.
Mom laughed, shaking her head. “Son, that’s like saying you’re the smallest cow at a stampede. You’re still part of the herd.”
“Mom, cattle analogies don’t apply to everything. It’s a lot more complicated than that,” I grumbled, shoving another forkful of cake in my mouth.
“What? Did Brooke try to expand from that horrible smut she’s been writing and pen a tell-all book about being the girl who finally nabbed the boy next door?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Something like that,” I muttered, drinking the rest of my milk and standing up. I didn’t want to have this conversation.
Walking over to the sink, I rinsed off my dish and cup before putting them in the dishwasher. By the time I closed the door to the dishwasher, Mom was standing in front of me with her arms crossed.
“So what? Brooke is trying to write a book based on your love life. What’s wrong with mixing a little fiction and real life?”
I sighed, leaning against the counter and shaking my head. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Mom. I don’t want to get into details, but a lot of it was blatant lies to, you know, smut it up and sell it.”
“And did you ask her to remove those parts?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrows high on her head.
“Well, no, but—”
“So you didn’t ask her to change it, but you’re mad because you didn’t ask or make suggestions?” Mom interrupted.
“No ...”
“Instead, you just got mad at her and had an argument over it and went huffing and puffing to go write a song about it? I guess y’all haven’t changed much.” A small smile crossed Mom’s lips.
“I’m going to head up to my room,” I muttered, not wanting to admit that she was probably right. I needed to apologize to Brooke, maybe talk it out, instead of just getting angry about what she wrote.
I’d have to swallow my pride, and I knew that, as I’d done it many times as a kid. But this time, I had a lot more to lose if she didn’t accept my apology.
“Mom! Mom!” I screamed, running into the house as fast as my one-size-too-big-but-Mom-assured-me-I’d-grow-into-them cowboy boots would carry me.
“What, Ed?” Mom turned away from the stove where she stirred something in a big pot.
“Can you
drive me into Rockwall?” I asked, stopping and tapping my feet on the tile floor.
Mom raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her pot. “What on earth do you need to go into Rockwall for?”
“On a count o’ Brooke’s mad at me again, so I need to make her not mad at me.”
Mom smiled, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot before setting it on the spoon rest and turning to face me. “What did you do that a trip to Rockwall will fix?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, looking at my feet instead of Mom’s glare. “It’s nothin’, really.”
Mom stayed silent, and I knew she was giving me the look. I tried to keep my eyes away from her as long as possible, but finally, I broke down. “I told her I’d jump in the pond with all my clothes on if she did and then I just let her jump in. She was so mad that she got her new jeans wet that she stormed back to her house and didn’t even let me drive her on the four-wheeler.”
“And you think going to Rockwall and getting her something pretty is going to help?” Mom asked, lifting an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”
Mom pulled out one of her baking dishes from the cupboard then grabbed a mixing bowl before heading toward the pantry.
“Uh, Mom? Do you need that all for driving?”
Mom smiled, piling her arms with sugar and cocoa and other baking necessities. “Eddie, we don’t need to go to Rockwall. The best way to make someone feel better is with chocolate, especially Texas sheet cake.”
Mom set the ingredients on the counter and handed me an apron.
“But Gramps says baking is woman’s work,” I protested.
Mom smiled, putting on her own apron. “The only way to truly apologize is for you to make this yourself and pour all your love and forgiveness into it.”
I curled my upper lip. “Ew, Mom, I don’t want to put love into anything I give Brooke. She’s my best friend.”
Mom gave me a knowing smile. I didn’t think she knew that I had my first wet dream a few nights ago, and it was about Brooke in her bikini. I made sure to toss my sheets into the wash and not tell a soul.
