Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1

by Olivia Cunning, Jayne Frost, RB Hilliard, Crystal Kaswell, Michelle Mankin, Emily Snow, Athena Wright

He gives me a hard stare. “Because he called me and wanted to know if you were okay. Apparently, I’m the go-to guy on all things Kylie Wolfe.”

  My chest tightens as I run my fingers through my hair nervously. “And?”

  “I lied. I told him I saw you yesterday morning, and you were the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

  For what seems like an eternity, we sit in traffic, completely silent. Once I digest what Lucas has just told me, I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if I should say thank you or be irritated.”

  “Irritated because I finally stepped in and tried to do something to stop you two from hurting each other?”

  “Yeah, irritated that after eight years, you’re just now showing an interest in your kid sister’s personal life.”

  “You don’t think I give a shit about what’s happening with you? You’re my sister. Don’t ever think for one second that I don’t love you, you got me?” When I nod, he adds, “I just want you to be happy.”

  My throat constricts, and I clench my fists. “Thanks, Lucas.” My voice is hoarse, and he turns his head slightly, giving me a sad smile, as he touches my shoulder. “I love you, too,” I say.

  Even though I want nothing more right now than to stay with him in the car and talk to him about Samantha, he pulls the Audi into the DMV lot, parking the car in the farthest spot from the entrance.

  “Lucas,” I say before I get out. He cocks one of his thick eyebrows. “When I’m done in here, we’re going to talk about you.”

  He doesn’t move or say anything, but he doesn’t have to. I know that I’ll be able to get something out of him even if it’s not the absolute truth.

  ***

  Since I have all the documents I need to get a new license, the whole process from start to finish takes less than an hour, which is like a miracle for the DMV. My brother looks surprised when I slide into the Audi.

  He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Let me guess, you’re missing shit?” he demands. I shake my head and flip open my wallet to show him my new card. He moves his head from side to side incredulously as he starts the car. “And I can bet money when I have to come in and get my renewal, it’ll take me all day long.”

  During the short drive back to my apartment, I think of several different ways to approach the subject of Sam with Lucas. It’s so ridiculously easy to ruin my brother’s mood that I want to approach it carefully.

  Then, I look at him. I study the way his shoulders sag and how his hazel eyes just seem tired. And I realize that there’s no way in hell I can ruin his day any worse than he already has.

  “We’re a fucked-up pair,” I say quietly after he parks near the curb.

  He releases a strangled laugh. “Yeah, we are.” He leans his head back against his headrest, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “I wanted to make things work with her so fucking bad,” he says, referring to Sienna.

  I nod. “You still can, but you’re going to have to let go of whatever it is Sam’s got on you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “It’s not that fucking simple.”

  “Then, let me help you. Tell me what she has on you, so we can figure it out together,” I plead. He shakes his head, refusing me. “I promise I’m not going to stop loving you.” When he doesn’t reply as he stares straight ahead through the windshield, my chest clenches. “Lucas, it’s not something that will make me stop loving you,” I say again, but this time, it sounds more like a question than a statement.

  He’s quiet for much longer than necessary, and when he answers me, my heart aches so much more for him. “No, it’s not, but only because it’s not in you to stop loving someone.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  For the next week, Wyatt calls my cell phone twice a day, once in the afternoon and then again at night. He doesn’t leave messages, and he doesn’t send texts. I’m sure he knows that I’m purposely missing his calls every time I send him straight to voice mail. It’s so hard to do that to him because each time I hit the top button on my iPhone to ignore the call, it feels like a hole is being burned into my chest.

  Nine days after my return from Phoenix, my brother calls me a little after noon. “You busy?” Lucas asks the moment I pick up. He sounds out of breath, like he’s been lifting weights. Before I can answer him, he continues, “I got an email this morning about some sponsorship thing you signed me up for. Want to check into it for me?”

  Lucas has been trying to keep me as busy as possible since I came home to L.A., and while I appreciate his concern, his hovering is starting to become slightly annoying. I save the letter that I’ve been writing to Sinjin. “I’m on it right now,” I say as I pull up his Gmail account.

  “Call me after you figure it out, okay?”

  After I promise that I will, he ends the call, and I scroll through his inbox in search of the email. I find it near the top of his message list, where he told me it would be, so I open it up and begin to read.

  According to the email, the organization, which provides sports equipment to disadvantaged kids, has left a message for his assistant. Wrinkling my forehead, I bite the inside of my lip because I haven’t received any calls from them. I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, and then I sit back down to do a little more research.

  It’s not until I find a thread of old correspondence with the group from months ago that I realize I gave them the direct number to my apartment instead of my cell phone number. The only phone I keep in my place is located in my bedroom, and since I went the quirky novelty route when I purchased it, it’s corded. I sit on my bed with my laptop in front of me to take notes as I check the message.

  Sure enough, there’s a voice mail from the organization that’s dated back to a week ago. I listen to it twice, typing down all the pertinent information I’ll need for Lucas to make a donation. I erase the message, and I’m about to hang up, but then the next voice mail automatically starts playing.

  The voice on the line sends chills through my body. It’s Wyatt. For ten minutes, I find myself listening to messages he left for me while we were in New Orleans before he realized he was calling the wrong number. It isn’t until I reach the sixth voice mail that I feel as if my lungs have completely failed me.

  “Do you ever pick up your goddamn phone, beautiful?” Wyatt asks in a low, sexy voice, and my breath catches painfully. “I need you to be there next week, Ky. I need to know that I’ll see you when I come to Nashville to start recording because this separation bullshit has been going on for too long. Look, I know that you’re pissed because of my last message, but I can’t help the past. I can’t change how fucked-up we’ve been to each other. I just want to make things right now.” There’s a muffled noise, and I hear Cal’s voice. Wyatt mutters something under his breath, and then he clears his throat. “Call me when you’re ready. And Kylie? I love you, okay?”

  It feels like butterflies are racing though my stomach as I wrap my fingers around the cord tightly, listening carefully as the automated voice speaks the time and date. He left the message the last week of January, a couple of weeks before he found me in New Orleans. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow several times.

  Saving the voice mail, I start the next, which turns out to be a telemarketer. I go through two more spam calls before I find Wyatt’s other message.

  “I fucked up. I’ve fucked up, and it’s something I don’t ever want to do again. I don’t want other women. I want you. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, and it’s going to stay that way. We need to make a decision. We’re either together or apart, but no more of this bullshit that we’ve been doing to each other for the past few years. It’s destructive, and it’s time we stop pretending like we can just be friends with benefits or whatever the hell you’re calling it now.

  “I love you, Kylie. You know I have a hard time saying that, but I do. Stop ignoring my calls, stop being so afraid of getting hurt, and let’s figure this out.”

  The message ends there, and I feel numb a
s I listen to the date and time, learning that he left this particular voice mail back in December. I slide my laptop to the other side of my bed and carefully place the phone back on the receiver, as if it will break at the slightest harsh movement. I stare at the nightstand, at the phone. And I sit in silence like I’m waiting, like I’m expecting the phone to ring at any moment.

  When nothing happens and the quietness continues, I close my eyes tightly. I can almost hear Wyatt’s voice in my head, telling me over and over again that he loves me.

  “I love you, too,” I finally whisper.

  ***

  Wyatt’s messages stay in the front of my mind for the next few days, and it’s nearly impossible for me to get much done besides writing Sinjin two more letters and going to the gym with Heidi once.

  When my cell phone rings on Friday afternoon and my mom’s voice comes on the line, a wave of relief washes through my body. She’s got this way of making me feel better by just saying a couple of words, and I stretch out on my sofa as I talk to her.

  “You sound tired,” she points out in a worried voice.

  Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. “Just a little stressed.”

  After she reminds me that I need to take better care of myself, she changes the subject to my upcoming trip to Atlanta to see her and my dad. “Are you still planning to visit in a few weeks?”

  “I’ll be there, driving you insane,” I promise. When she laughs, I imagine her grinning face and how she’s probably waving her hand, shaking my comment off.

  “You could never do that, baby. Me and your dad just really…” She pauses for several seconds, and a sob hitches in my throat. The moment she opens her mouth to speak again, the concern has returned along with the firm voice she used on us when we were kids. “Alright, spill it now.”

  And I do. Even though my mother is a youth pastor, I leave nothing out, telling her about everything from the cutting to all the years of constant drama with Wyatt and even about the messages I recently discovered. When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time.

  “Do you love him?” she asks. “Are you still in love with Wyatt McCrae?”

  Lucas’s words from the day at the DMV come to mind, and I swallow hard because my brother was right. It is impossible for me to stop loving someone. “Of course I do. I’ll never stop.”

  My mother makes a squeaking noise, like she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. I hear her say something to my dad, and then I hear the sound of a door closing. “Then, you need to tell him that. If you both love each other, you need to be committed. And if he’s not willing to do that…well, the least you can do is get everything off your chest.”

  “I don’t even know if it could work,” I say.

  I can practically hear her shaking her head when she responds to me. “You don’t know anything until you try. No relationship is perfect, and there won’t ever be one that is. You just have to figure out how to fix yours.”

  “I’ll contact him.”

  “You don’t sound so sure,” she says, so when I respond, my voice is firm and convincing.

  “I’m going to go see him, Mom. Even if we can’t be together, you’re right. Not trying will hurt so much worse than talking to him and agreeing that it’s best we stay apart.”

  She releases a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m so proud of you. I’ve got to hang up now—your dad and I have made plans this evening, but I love you. I’ve loved you and Lucas since the day you were born, been proud of you both since I first laid eyes on you, and nothing will ever change that.” Before we end the call, she clears her throat softly. “And Kylie? There’s so much we need to talk about in person when you come home.”

  I’ve given her a lot to think about and said things I never planned on revealing to her, so I know by the time I go to Atlanta, we’ll have hours of conversation ahead of us. There might be tears and maybe even some angry words, but I nod my head, welcoming it. “I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

  ***

  For the next twenty-four hours, I let myself absorb my mom’s words, and by the next evening, I know that I’m ready to face Wyatt. I don’t want to lose my nerve, so I don’t call him to let him know I’m on my way as I make the drive to his West Hollywood bungalow.

  His car, a fully restored classic Chevelle, is parked in his driveway, and I pull my blue Yaris right behind it. Taking a deep breath, I walk up to his front door. I ring the bell and then clench my fists by my side as I wait for him to answer.

  When he pulls open the door a moment later, he’s speaking to someone over his shoulder, but his words are cut off the second he lays his intense blue eyes on me.

  Slowly, I take in the sight of him. He’s barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. My gaze traces over the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s healing fast, and I feel a sharp pang in my rib cage. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind me—”

  “God, no. Never. Come in.” He’s hesitant to touch me at first, but then he places his palms to the side of my face, pushing back soft wisps of my hair with his thumbs. I tilt my face up to his, not caring that it’s obvious I’m breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs at last, as he lowers his hands.

  He moves aside, and I smile and step into his foyer. He stares at me for a long time until a noise from the hallway makes him turn his eyes away. “Be right there,” he calls out over his shoulder.

  “You’re busy,” I say, suddenly feeling stupid. “I can come back later. I can—”

  But the other person in the house hears me and cuts me off by saying my name loudly. “Kylie?”

  It’s Brenna’s voice, and I lift my head to take in the sight of her just as she comes rushing from the hallway. She runs into me, hard, knocking the air out of my lungs.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  * * *

  “Jesus, kid, you’re getting tall,” I say. I close my arms around the girl clinging to my waist and hold her close. “Next year, you’ll be my height.”

  Pulling away from me, she makes a face, and I screw my own into a dramatic pout. We both hold the looks for a long time before she gives up and laughter bubbles from her chest. I’m too nervous to laugh, so I manage a little smile as I tuck a lock of her dark blonde hair behind her ear.

  “You’re just fun-sized,” Brenna says. She glances over at Wyatt, who hasn’t moved since she came sprinting into the foyer. “You said Kylie was gone on vacation, Dad.”

  He lifts his shoulders slightly, and his eyes search my face, waiting for me to have some type of reaction toward him. “Guess she came back early.”

  Brenna beams up at me. “Did you have fun?”

  I fold my arms across my stomach, holding myself together. “It was…” I search for the right word, but it doesn’t come to me. I lift my eyes, finally meeting Wyatt’s deep stare head-on. “I’m glad to be home.”

  She bobs her head up and down, grabbing my hand to lead me into Wyatt’s living room. Knocking a couple of PlayStation 3 controllers aside, she motions for me to sit beside her on the tan leather couch. Since I’ve never been able to say no to Brenna, I comply. “So, where all did you go?” she demands.

  “New Orleans.”

  “Lots of good food?”

  “Are you kidding? Some of the best.” I catch Wyatt’s blue eyes as he eases down onto the matching loveseat across from us. I wonder if Brenna knows he was in New Orleans with me for a short period of time, but when he gives me a slight shake of his head, I figure he hasn’t told her. “Your dad will have to take you there some day.”

  She looks at him expectantly, and he gives her a halfhearted grin. Returning her attention to me, she proudly declares, “Mom’s planning on taking me to Orlando this summer while Dad’s on tour.”

  “You going to ride the teacups until you get sick?” I tease.

  She wrinkles her nose. “I’m too old for that. I do get to go and see Hog—”

  “Baby,” Wyatt says softly, cutting off Br
enna. She lifts her eyebrows impatiently, waiting for him to continue. Wearing that tender smile he’s always reserved exclusively for her, he comes across the room to kneel down in front of us. “Kylie and I need to talk right now. Can you go in your room for a little bit?”

  She presses her small lips together and starts to shake her head. Then, she reconsiders, and a slow grin that looks just like his builds on her face. “Pizza for dinner? And then you help me beat that level in my game?”

  He groans, moving his head from side to side, as he contemplates her offer. “Deal,” he says, surprising both Brenna and me. He’s never been a fan of pizza or video games. “Give me twenty minutes, okay?”

  Wearing a look of sheer satisfaction, she leaves the room, and I watch her disappear down the hallway until she closes the door to her bedroom. I rub the pad of my thumb over the first blackbird tattoo, which is located a few inches over my left breast. I got it after Wyatt had confessed to getting a one-night stand pregnant. He’d met her a few months after we’d first made love in that hotel in Livingston, and even though we hadn’t been a couple and we’d agreed that we weren’t seeking a relationship, finding out that he had a baby on the way stung so much that I didn’t speak to him for months.

  I didn’t actually meet Brenna until a couple of months after he had come looking for me once I had divorced Brad. Seeing her in person made me instantly regret that first tattoo. Brenna wasn’t one of the letdowns over the last several years.

  She’s a piece of him that I’ve always loved fiercely.

  “She’s an amazing kid,” I murmur, rubbing my hand across my chest.

  As he slides down beside me on the couch, I drop my eyes to his hands. They’re in his lap, clenched, and I can almost guess he’s wondering why I’m here. “I’m not sure what to say, Ky.” His midnight blue eyes skim over my face, as if he’s trying to read my expression. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”