Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3)

by Nicole Simone

  As I predicted, he struggled to comprehend why it was a big deal. To Ash, a ring didn’t mean shit. “So?”

  “So I ruined whatever was between us with that one stupid lapse of judgment.”

  Noah looked at me over the rim of his glass. “You could be friends with her.”

  “She wants nothing to do with me.”

  “You’re assuming that, but if you make it clear you want nothing more than friendship, she might be amicable to welcoming you back into her life—as long you keep your dick in your pants, that is.”

  Ash muttered his agreement, which shocked me to no end. Usually, he was the one adamantly opposing the friend zone. Maybe Noah was onto something. I slid free of the booth. “I’ll check you guys later.”

  I RUBBED MY EYES AND the computer screen blurred in front of me. The footage I’d captured so far had been sliced and edited into a teaser trailer for prospective film festivals. I had to apply for a spot almost a year in advance in order to stand a chance in getting in. I shoved my chair backward and stretched my arms above me as I stood.

  The past week had been non-stop work to distract myself from thinking about the moment Sean and I had shared outside the restaurant. The temptation to succumb while he looked at me with such raw desire that night was frightening—as was how little control I had of my emotions when it came to him.

  My steady and calm nature was a key part of who I was, yet Sean brought out this other side that had been strictly reserved for my sister. She was the wildcard who lived in the moment and indulged her every whim. I had seen the potential of how fun it could be if you didn’t have a conscience, which I did—a huge one.

  Despite my lingering doubts, Marco deserved a loyal fiancé, and I wasn’t going to lose my head because of a sexy-as-sin rock star.

  “No way José. My lady bits are closed for business.” Giggling, I pointed to the empty mini rum bottle I’d dumped into my hot cocoa. “You might have gotten me a tad tipsy, sir.”

  A thunderous boom shook the floor. I swiveled my head around, convinced an earthquake had hit Dallas.

  “Melody? Open up. It’s me, Sean.”

  On unsteady feet, I padded to the door and swung it open. He was leaning against the frame, breathing heavily as if he had run there.

  Seeing my bafflement, he explained, “The elevator is broken.”

  “Really? It was working fine an hour ago.”

  “Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

  I glanced over my shoulder into my small hotel room. He would have to sit on my bed, as would I. If I hadn’t already crossed the line, Sean and I canoodling on the plush mattress would do it—although, no one had mentioned anything about canoodling. My fingers pressed to my temples as the carpet swirled. I had forgotten what a lightweight I was.

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” I said—slurred?

  His eyes danced with mirth as they met mine. “You’re drunk.”

  Yup I am definitely slurring.

  “I poured a mini bottle of rum into my hot cocoa.”

  “Look at you, living on the edge.”

  “Shut up. It tasted delicious.”

  “Personally, I’m a beer guy.”

  “Ack! I hate piss water.”

  Sean led me into the room by my elbow and shut the door. As he turned back around, I leveled him with a seething glare. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. No funny business,” he said sincerely.

  “Fine, but you have to stand. You’re not invited to sit on my mattress.”

  His lips twitched as he fought a grin. “Fair enough.”

  I crawled to the mountain of pillows and collapsed into them with my arms outstretched like one of those trust exercises. “You may begin.”

  “I can’t talk to you when you’re staring at the ceiling. You look like a corpse.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do too, and besides, my speech will be much more impactful if you can actually see my emotions.”

  “Oh my god! You’re so demanding.” Pushing myself upward, I crossed my legs and looked at him. “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” The lightheartedness dissolved as self-reproach infiltrated his gaze. “I’m sorry things got out of hand between us. I never want to urge you to cross a line you aren’t comfortable crossing. You aren’t just another woman to me. You’re special, and you deserve respect.”

  My heart did a double backflip as one thought blazed to the forefront of my mind—I was already halfway to hell in a handbasket with Sean as my passenger.

  He shuffled to the edge of the bed, his expression open and vulnerable. An adorable smirk lifted his lips. “Will you be my friend?”

  “But how, when…” I gestured between us and mimicked fireworks exploding.

  “When our attraction is so strong?” He shrugged. “I don’t have an answer, but I’m willing to try.”

  The films and novels based on the premise of guys and girls as friends always ended up with them naked in bed together, in love and blissful, proving the opposite sexes were fated to be lovers. Could Sean and I be in the one percent? I doubted it, since whenever we shared the same air space, we created an electrical storm.

  The doubt must have showed on my face because his mouth turned downward into a frown. “I’ll leave. It was a stupid idea forged by too many drinks and the encouragement of two dumbasses.”

  As he shuffled to the door, his shoulders slumped with rejection and a sense of loss tightened my throat. Call it selfish or reckless, but I didn’t want to give Sean up just yet, not until I absolutely had to. “Hold on! You haven’t heard my answer yet.”

  His hand paused on the knob and he glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t need to kick a guy when he’s already down.”

  “Yes, I’ll be your friend.”

  “Really? Or are you playing with me?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not that much of a bitch Sean.”

  He gifted me with one of his famous smiles, and I attempted to ignore the effect it had on me—key word, attempted. After all, it was impossible to be immune to his charm.

  “Awesome! I have never had a woman friend before,” he confessed.

  “Ever? Even when you were little?”

  “Nope.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I never had any interest in holding shopping bags or acting as an inside source of what men are thinking.”

  Until now—that’s what he was implying. “I’m honored to pop your friendship cherry.”

  “Can we not talk about sex? You’re a mere two feet away from me, wearing boy shorts and a tank without a bra.” Sean’s features became strained, as did his voice. “You’re killing me with those nipples.”

  I slapped my hands over my chest, humiliation burning my cheeks. “Throw me my sweatshirt. It’s hanging on the hook in the bathroom.” He did and I quickly tugged the worn piece of clothing over my head. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “Because I knew I would regret it, and guess what? I do—greatly.”

  “You’re such a male.”

  “Born and bred.”

  My index finger rose as I implemented a new guideline. “Rule number one: long sleeves and pants are imperative when hanging out.”

  Sean joined in on the game. “Rule number two: wear a wedding ring. It’s easier to remember you’re off limits.

  “I left it with my sister for safekeeping.”

  “Does your fiancé know that?”

  “Yes. Marco knows I don’t need a ring to prove my love for him,” I lied.

  He let out a low disbelieving laugh. “Right.”

  “Whatever. I don’t need or want your judgment.”

  “Ok, let’s move on to a safer subject. What should we do tonight?”

  “It’s almost eleven thirty. My internal clock shuts off at midnight.”

  Looking at the television, he snatched up the remote from the side table and turned it on. “A sitcom then. Can I pleas
e sit now?”

  I created a barrier in the middle of the bed with pillows. “Yes, but you have to stay on your side.”

  “You got it Ms. Bossy Pants.”

  Kicking off his shoes, he planted himself on my left and handed me the remote. A strange thrill flooded my veins at the power. Marco deemed our apartment a crap-free zone, meaning my mindless, trashy shows were banned—yet football Sundays remained.

  I flipped the channel and squealed as the opening credits to Mistresses scrolled on the screen. “Do you mind?”

  “Not one bit.”

  “It’s an hour.”

  “Even better.”

  “I might fall asleep and when I sleep, I drool.”

  Looking over, Sean grinned. “Are you worried I won’t find you attractive anymore? Because that ain’t gonna happen, even if you drool a river.”

  “It’s more like a small pond.”

  Sean’s torso shook with a belly laugh. I joined in as a lightness settled into my bones. Lying there next to him, joking around felt…right. Yanking the duvet to my chin, I curled up and watched a catfight between two Botoxed women on the screen.

  “Melody?”

  “Hmm?” I answered, my eyes fixated on the drama unfolding.

  “What the hell are we watching?”

  “It’s about four friends that…” I trailed off because the plot was too complicated to explain without confusing him to death. “I’ll change it.”

  “It’s cool. I’m used to being subjected to girly crap.”

  The characters on the screen began to shed their clothes in a fit of wild passion and moans of pleasure filled the room. Sean’s heady scent broke the barrier of pillows and I did my best to ignore his draw. Watching a sex scene with him provoked images in my mind that should have been reserved for late night fantasies, not mentally played out when he was within kissing distance. Our friendship was off to a great start.

  Hitting the mute button, I cleared my throat. “So, you have a sister?”

  “Technically I have eight. My parents have taken in a number of foster kids over the years and they have all remained close to the family, even after turning eighteen.”

  “Wow, that sounds like a full household.”

  “It was. I was never bored.”

  “Whenever my sister and I complained of boredom, my dad would hand each of us a pen with instructions to write our own reality. Our stories were tacked to the bulletin board in his office and he would brag about them to anyone who visited.”

  “He sounds like a proud father,” Sean said.

  “He was, the proudest.”

  “Was?”

  “My dad would prefer if I were a doctor or lawyer. He hates that I put myself in harm’s way.”

  “Isn’t that a reasonable response? No parent wants to worry about their child.”

  I sat upright in a cross-legged position and picked at the loose threads in the duvet. “It makes me sick that I cause him anxiety, but my career is what saved me from diving into the black hole of grief like my father did when my mom passed. When I’m in the field, I have to concentrate on basic needs like food, shelter, water, and the safety of my team and myself. At the end of the day, there isn’t room left to think about how my mom used to smell like browned butter and sugar, or how once a month, my sister, my mom, and I would have a sleepover in the living room, giggling about boys and clothes.” My heart tightened. “She was my best friend and when she died, a piece of me went with her. I couldn’t stay in the house—it was too packed with memories—so I signed up for a mission trip in South Africa. My dad agreed because he thought it would only be for three months, but I never came back.”

  “Never?”

  Shame tossed around in my stomach. “I tried once, but when the taxi pulled up alongside the curb, I half expected to see my mom weeding her precious rose garden with that stupid floppy hat she always wore. When she wasn't there, it felt like she had died all over again.”

  Sean linked his fingers through mine and swiped his thumb across the planes of my palm. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

  “It was hard, but I was selfish and put my needs above my dad’s and sister’s.”

  “You did what you had to to move on.”

  I scoffed. “Move on? Is that what you call burying your feelings under a pile of avoidance otherwise known as work? I should have stayed at home. “

  “If you had, you wouldn’t have built the reputable career you’re now known for.”

  “Yea, but at what cost? My father and I barely talk and my sister is the definition of free love.”

  “And if you’d stayed, what would have changed?”

  “I’m not sure, but I abandoned my family when I should have stuck by their side.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. I inhaled through my nose and counted to ten. The urge to cry receded but the bitter taste of regret remained. Sean tugged me down onto the bed next to him. Lying flat, we watched the lights of the passing traffic dance on the ceiling. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

  “You’re here for me now.”

  His hold tightened, anchoring me to the here and now. Minutes or hours later, we succumbed to sleep, hands interconnected, the barrier of pillows broken.

  I TUGGED ON MY SHOES, careful to not wake Melody. She stirred, smacked her lips together, and flung her arm across her forehead. Early dawn light peeked through the curtains.

  “You leaving?” Melody said, voice thick with grogginess.

  “I figured it would be best if we weren’t seen exiting the same hotel room.”

  “Right.”

  She sounded disappointed. I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t have to go.”

  Melody’s eyes lifted as she stifled a yawn. “No, you should. You’re right.”

  I felt like a woman kicked to the curb after a one-night stand, hoping for more and getting nothing in return. Jesus, next thing I knew I would be braiding hair and singing musicals into a hairbrush.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Melody cuddled her pillow and shut her eyes, out faster than a light switch. I observed her for a moment, memorizing the way her chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, how her eyelids twitched with hidden dreams and her delicate hands curled tightly into fists. I prayed her fiancé knew how he lucky he was to wake up to her every day because to me, it felt like a precious gift. When I brushed a kiss on the spot above her eyebrow, she stayed unresponsive. I slid my arms into my jacket and quietly tiptoed into the hallway. The hotel door clicked shut behind me.

  MUSICIANS THROUGH AND THROUGH, MY bandmates weren’t morning people. They would sleep until noon if they could, which worked in my favor because I could easily slip into my bunk without anybody noticing my absence. I inserted my key into the lock and slowly entered the bus. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and with one hand outstretched, I made my way toward the back.

  “Look at you, doing the walk of shame.”

  My heart leaped into my throat and my stomach lurched. Ash was sitting at the table. In the dark.

  “What the fuck?” I stuttered.

  “Sorry."

  “No you aren’t.”

  With a smile in his voice, he said, “You’re right, I’m not. It’s bloody fun scaring the bejesus out of you.”

  “And better than a shot of coffee.”

  Now wide awake, my butt slid into the opposite side of the booth. Ash recoiled as I yanked open the blinds. With his hair mussed and his eyes puffy with exhaustion, it appeared as if he had found someone else to go home with last night.

  “Has she left yet?” I wondered.

  He sipped his green tea. “Who?”

  “Whoever robbed you of sleep.”

  “I didn’t bring anyone back here.”

  “Why?”

  “Emma is pregnant.”

  Ash stared into his mug and swirled the liquid inside. Three years ago, when I’d first met him, he had rarely partied, pref
erring to stay inside and play cards, and he’d had a girlfriend he was fiercely devoted to. Once they broke up, Ash rivaled for the crown of band whore.

  “I saw it on her Facebook page. I shouldn’t have opened the video, but I couldn’t help myself.” Ash clutched the handle, his fingers pale. “She and her husband are having a girl.” Utter desolation soaked his words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at me with pain reflected in his eyes. “WE were supposed to have a girl. We used to talk about what we would name her—Rose Laurence, after her grandmother.”

  Getting a glimpse into the future, seeing what could have been was a common problem in our generation. Inundated with Facebook updates, it’s near impossible to muffle the noise. After accidentally stumbling upon a picture of my ex-wife and her boyfriend twisted into an unnatural yoga pose with my dog in the background, I blocked her.

  “You need to stay off social media,” I advised.

  “I thought enough time had passed. It’s not normal to love someone so desperately it spans years.”

  “Who says what’s normal?”

  “I do,” Ash snapped, then said it again in a haggard murmur. “I do.”

  “Why did you let her go then?”

  “Young stupidity and also, she didn't really give me a choice. It was either her or my career. Emma hated my long spans of touring and the uncertainty of my schedule. Missing her college graduation was the last straw.”

  Neglectfulness, the curse of the rock star that plagued the majority of our relationships. A woman who didn’t mind playing second fiddle was a woman worth keeping, and I had a hunch Melody wouldn’t care. She viewed her career in the same blinding spotlight I did.

  “You haven’t seen Emma since?”

  Ash shook his head. “No, I figured after she got her space she would come back. I should have fought for her.”

  “Do you really think that would have changed anything?”

  “I don’t know, but she left with the notion that my love didn’t run deep enough to save us.” Ash mournfully gazed outside at the rising sun. “It kills me that someone with a name as generic as John captured a rare beauty like Emma.”