by Meghan Quinn
Smiling, Kaid said, “When your neighbors are moving, you might snag their surfboard off their truck while they’re in the house. Then, you spend your senior year of high school practicing until you’re good enough to brag about it.”
“You stole your neighbor’s surfboard?” Harper asked, completely shocked.
“I’m not proud of it, but yes. They had plenty; they probably didn’t even notice it went missing. Plus, it was their daughter’s surfboard; they never would have guessed I took it.”
Laughing, Harper said, “You did not learn how to surf on a chick’s surfboard.”
“Sure did, sweetheart,” Kaid winked, making her laugh some more. “The purple flowers were slightly emasculating, but I turned them into a skull and crossbones shortly after I got the crap beat out of me by a couple of guys I tried to watch surf so I could learn. Let’s just say they used some pretty crude words to describe me.”
“You were beat up?” Harper asked, concerned.
Sarcastically laughing, Kaid said, “Yeah, but that was a common occurrence. I got used to getting beat up after being in the foster care system. It was bound to happen.”
“Kinkaid,” Harper barely whispered, as she gripped his hand that was on her knee. “That really makes me feel sick to my stomach to think about. I don’t like it at all.”
“You’re sweet for caring,” Kaid admitted.
The tension in the room started to grow heavy between Harper and Kaid. He could feel a pull toward her that he had never felt before. He’d always found Harper attractive, from the first day the label introduced them, but she was hard and demanding, someone he never really saw himself with. But recently, over the past couple of weeks, he’d seen her gentler side, and it only made him want to get to know her more. It was crazy.
“You know you can always talk to me; I meant what I said,” Harper reminded him.
“I know; I appreciate that.”
They just stared at each other in silence. Kaid wanted to pull her in closer, to place his lips on hers, to find out what she tasted like, but he knew it would be a bad idea. Harper was their producer; he didn’t want to make things weird.
So, he cleared his throat and pulled away from her, not missing the flash of disappointment in Harper’s eyes.
“We should probably work on this song.”
“Yes, we probably should,” Harper shook her head and turned toward the sound board. “I want to give it a little bit more of an upbeat tempo.”
“But it’s supposed to be a love song; it’s supposed to have some melodrama to it. An upbeat tempo would ruin it.”
“It will make it catchier,” Harper countered.
“It will ruin it, and I won’t let you do that.”
“Excuse me?” Harper asked, growing slightly irritated.
“You heard me; I don’t want to give it an upbeat tempo.”
Harper’s lips twisted as she thought about what Kaid was saying. He would fight her until they were both ripped to shreds before he actually allowed her to mess up his song. This was the one song that he felt incredibly strong about. There were some things he would allow, but changing the beat of this song was a no go.
“What’s this song actually about?” Harper asked, wanting the story. “Who is the hero inside?”
That was the title of the song, “The Hero Inside.” Kaid came up with the lyrics while thinking about himself and everything he had to do to take care of his two girls, but never showing his true inner hero. He kept it inside and just did what was right, never flaunting the good things he did for Maisy and Willow.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kaid responded, as he started to play the song and added a little more bass.
“It’s about you, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Kaid snapped, hating himself for doing so.
Getting the idea that Kaid didn’t want to talk about the song’s meaning anymore, Harper backed off, but not before saying, “For what it’s worth, I absolutely love the song. If you want to keep the tempo, then I’ll back you up when we take it to the label.”
A little shocked at how easily Harper gave in, he eyed her and said, “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she gripped his shoulder. “You did a fantastic job. There are still little tweaks I would like to make, but if you want to keep the tempo, I’ll stand by your decision.”
“Wow, thanks Harper. I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not a bitch, you know. I know I drive you guys and hound you for lyrics, but it’s only because I want the best from you; I crave the best from you and I want you to succeed.”
“I know you’re not a bitch,” Kaid admitted, while smiling down at her. “You’re actually kind of amazing.”
“Just kind of,” she teased, but Kaid could tell his comment made her giddy as she smiled shyly at him.
“Maybe more than kind of.” He lightly pinched her chin with his thumb and index finger and then turned back to the sound board. He could feel her gaze on him for a couple of seconds, studying him, before she turned toward the sound board as well, and they both went to work on perfecting the song that was near and dear to Kaid’s heart.
**Cruz**
They’d won a Grammy; it was still a little unbelievable. Cruz had nursed a hangover all day from the after party and finally was starting to feel like himself again. He’d made a stop at a local In and Out for a double-double, which seemed to do the trick in keeping his stomach from turning constantly. It always did. He planned on running the next morning. That, along with what he had planned with Maelani for later that night, would take care of any extra calories he’d taken in. No matter what, he always had to stay trim, double-double or not.
Visions of Maelani ran through his head all day, and the time was ticking down until she was supposed to show up at his house. He felt like a total dick stick, counting down the minutes, but damn if he wasn’t excited.
All he could think about was how she looked on top of him, how she looked underneath him, and the intricate design of her Hawaiian tattoos that cascaded down the sides of her hips. She was gorgeous, and the funny thing was, he couldn’t mentally thank Willow enough for introducing her to him. The more he thought about her, the more he craved her, and he was about ready to explode from his craving.
Needing to see where she was, he sent a text message over to her.
Cruz: Hope you didn’t get lost, beautiful. I can’t wait to get my hands on you tonight.
Just as he sent the text message, there was a light knock at his door. He checked his phone and saw that she was a couple minutes late, but he really didn’t care; he wasn’t a time marshal or anything…he was just a greedy bastard who needed her under him as soon as possible.
With a smile on his face, he opened the door and went to greet Maelani, but was surprised when he didn’t see the black-haired girl but, instead, saw Willow standing at his front door, looking absolutely trashed.
“Willow?”
She looked up at him and smiled. “There you are; let’s get this over with,” Willow said, while taking her shirt off and walking into his place.
Get this over with? As if it was a damn chore? Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly with Cruz.
“Put your shirt back on, Willow. I have company coming over, and I don’t particularly care for you to refer to our fucking as a chore.”
“I didn’t say a chore,” she stammered, running into the wall and laughing. “I just know it’s time to get it on. I have you scheduled in my phone. You and Declan, you and Declan, but never Grey, never, never Grey. He doesn’t get to have this grade A pussy.”
Who the hell was Declan?
Cruz studied Willow closely and asked, “Are you using, Willow?”
“What?” she snapped and looked up at him from the ground in her black bra and pencil skirt. Her heels were now tossed to the side, no longer dangling from her feet. “Am I using? You have to be fucking kidding me with that question. What the fuck would I be using? It’s called alcohol, Cruz. Pr
etty sure you were quite familiar with it last night, if I can remember correctly.”
Skeptically, Cruz nodded and asked, “How long have you been drinking?”
She held her fingers up and started counting, but made no sense whatsoever.
“Well, let’s see. I started pre-gaming around two yesterday, so over twenty six hours. Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“You didn’t go to bed?” Cruz asked, surprised.
He and his boys loved to party, especially in their younger years, but they never once went over twenty six hours of drinking. Cruz enjoyed drinking and partying, but hell, he loved sleep just as much.
“Nah,” she waved her hand in the air. “Why would I go to bed? That seems like a grand waste of time. Plus, Declan invited me back to his place where he was having a little party as well. I just left the party, actually, and thought, hell, better come over here to please you, but from the looks of it, it seems like you have your panties in a twist.”
“Willow, I don’t need you to be on some kind of damn rotation with me.” It seemed all too odd to Cruz that Willow was scheduling him into her week. “And who the fuck is Declan?”
“Jealous?” she smiled.
“Fuck no, he just seems like he might not be the best influence.”
Pain flashed across her face at his outburst. He wasn’t really jealous of Willow and Declan because, frankly, he had his mind on someone else, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about Willow.
“When did you start acting like my dad?” Willow countered, as she rolled onto her stomach and lifted her feet, while propping her head in her hands, looking like a damn pin up on his floor. “Is Daddy going to spank me for being bad?”
Christ, he was not in the mood for this, so he bent down and grabbed her by the arms. Once he stilled her, he grabbed her shirt and handed it to her. Her eyes hazed over in confusion.
“Time to go, Willow.”
“What? You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m sending you home; you need to get some sleep and get your head on straight.”
She tore from his grasp and said, “My head is on straight. It’s you who needs fucking help. I don’t need help. I’m fine.” She stumbled to the side, but Cruz caught her before she could fall over. “Don’t touch me,” she yanked herself away, but then fell on the ground, crashing into the wall.
“Willow, let me call you a cab.”
“No, I get it. You don’t want me anymore. You used me for what you wanted, but you don’t want me. Shocker, none of the Shattered Souls wants me. Funny name…all you guys fucking do is shatter souls, well…good fucking job.” Tears streamed down her face as she crawled around on the floor while gathering her belongings.
Cruz bent down to help her, completely and utterly lost as to what Willow was saying. The only thing he could think of was the fact that she saw Grey for the first time since their tour ended and it brought up sour feelings. Was she really affected by the loss of Grey that much? Cruz didn’t think she was, but then again, he could have been mistaken.
“Willow, can you stop scrambling around for a second and talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she shouted, as she stood and groped the wall to steady herself. She straightened her skirt and pushed her hair out of her face. “Everything is good, just fucking peachy keen.”
“Willow…”
“If you come near me, I’m going to fucking cock punch you, so stay the fuck away.”
Cruz put his hands up in defense and stepped away. He wasn’t about to get a punch to the cock when he was expecting Maelani to come over.
Maelani, shit, Cruz needed to get Willow out of his house before she came over. He didn’t want Maelani thinking he’d just fucked Willow before she got there.
With determination, Willow walked to Cruz’s front door and said, “I’m going to just say it, this little arrangement between us is over.”
A text message alert sounded off in Cruz’s pocket, gathering Willow’s attention. She looked down at his pocket and then back at him. She studied his house, which was cleaner than usual, and there was a pile of readymade waffles on the counter of his kitchen along with fixings. Her gaze landed on Cruz’s guilty expression and she snapped.
“Who’s that texting you? Who is texting you?” she came after Cruz like a crazy ass banshee with high heels as hands.
“Holy fuck, calm down,” Cruz said, not quite understanding the massive mood swings Willow was going through.
“Who is it? Is it Maelani?”
Guilt flashed over Cruz’s face and Willow didn’t miss it.
“That fucking slut!” Willow raged, as she turned toward the door. “I told her it was okay to fuck you. I was actually happy that she was getting some action, but to go behind my back, to push me out the door because you want to fuck her alone, that is something I won’t forgive.”
What the fuck?
Confusion wasn’t a good enough word to describe the words coming out of Willow. She was making absolutely zero sense.
“She will regret this,” Willow waved her finger in the air. “Grey will fucking regret this.”
Grey? She was all kinds of fucked up. Before he could stop her, she walked out of his house, carrying her things, and still only wearing a bra and her skirt.
Concern washed over Cruz as he pulled out his phone to text Kaid. That was when he saw Maelani’s text message.
Maelani: Won’t be able to make it, something came up.
“Well, fuck,” Cruz mumbled. He sent her a text back, hoping to not sound too desperate.
Cruz: Not a problem. Let me know when you’re free.
That was casual enough, he thought. While waiting for a response from her, he sent Kaid a quick text to let him know that Willow was out on the loose, drunk as piss, and hanging on by a thread emotionally. Kaid sent him a quick text back saying thanks for the heads up.
Since Maelani wasn’t stopping by, Cruz fixed himself a waffle and sat down at his kitchen counter. He was pathetic. One night with a girl and he was waiting around his kitchen, eating waffles, willing his phone to make a text message sound. When was it okay for him to do that?
Never, he told himself. It was never okay, he was a player; he didn’t wait around for women.
As he settled into his couch and turned on his TV, he realized that with one grip of her pussy around his cock, he was a sunk man, he needed her, and even though it was against everything he believed in, he waited for Maelani to text back.
That night, he fell asleep on his couch, waiting for a text back, but never received one.
**Willow**
The taxi ride was a little too bumpy for her liking, especially since she was drunk off her ass and in the need of something greasy for her stomach.
Fuck, Cruz. That’s what she kept saying to herself.
“Fuck him and his stupid house and fuck Grey, I hate him,” Willow mumbled, as she flopped to one of the sides of the taxi she was in.
“Are you giving me directions?” the cab driver asked, looking in the rear view mirror with concern.
“Unless ‘fuck you, Grey’ is a road I don’t know about, then no, I’m not, so mind your own damn business,” Willow spat out as she lifted her head just enough to look at the man.
He scowled at her and continued to drive her to her destination. Content with putting the cabbie in his place, she rested her head back down on the seat, which was rather uncomfortable from the cracking leather.
The thought of millions of people sitting on the seat that she was resting her head on didn’t cross her mind. Instead, she rubbed her face against the cool leather.
Kaid tried calling her a couple of times, but she quickly turned her phone off, not wanting to deal with his nagging.
What she didn’t understand was why she was so damn unhappy. She thought she had it all with her adoring fans, the applause that she craved at the end of a concert, the paycheck in her pocket, the free clothes and free drinks…what could be wrong with that
kind of lifestyle? The lifestyle of the rich and famous.
Grey’s face popped in her head, making her cringe. Seeing him last night was a blow to the stomach. She didn’t talk about her problems much with Kaid and Maisy, because over the past six months, attention had been focused on helping Maisy get through the heartbreak of Rook, so Willow didn’t bother bringing up the pain she felt from the loss of Grey.
That morning, in the hotel, he blamed her for everything, and she soaked up the brunt of his problems like a damn sponge, and she’d carried them on her shoulders for the past six months. After seeing Grey last night, all those problems came to the forefront of her mind.
Even though he looked apologetic and sorry, and like he might actually care about her, the verbal abuse she’d endured still hung over her head. Grey not only cut her with his words, but he brought back so many insecurities she grew up with that she felt herself start to tense up; she felt her lungs start to tighten and any chance of living freely closed off. She felt trapped, grounded by his words that kept floating through her head.
Normally, she would go to a therapist, like a regular person, but now that she was a celebrity, she didn’t wanted to get mixed up with wondering if she could trust talking to someone or not. There were too many celebrity scandals that tabloids were dying to get their paws on, so Willow decided to pass up on a chance at therapy and skipped to an easier approach to forget her problems…drugs and alcohol.
“Lady, wake up. Get the hell out of my cab,” the cab driver said, as he shook her foot from the door.
Raising her head and looking around, Willow noticed she was at her destination and reached into her purse for a few bills. She tossed them at the driver, grabbed her shirt and shoes, and started walking toward the front door.
After a couple of knocks, Declan answered the door without a shirt on and with a towel wrapped around his waist.
