“She got in through numerous scholarships. I don’t have to pay a dime for her education.”
“Wow,” I uttered, impressed.
“My Nandi is a brilliant one, that is for sure.”
We lapsed into silence as I wondered if my father ever bragged about me to strangers.
“We are here,” the driver informed me.
My hand lingered on the handle as I looked at the pre-war brick building with its cheery red door flanked by two boxwoods. My gaze traveled upward to the sixth floor, where my apartment was blissfully dark. Either Marco was out or he was asleep, although that was highly unlikely. He went to bed when the city begun to stir.
“Have a good night,” I said as I slammed the door.
In New York, elevators were few and far between in older establishments. My legs felt the burn as I walked up the six flights of stairs and was reminded why I hadn’t stepped foot in a gym in the eight years of living there.
My feet dragged down the hallway until I was face to face with number 302. The welcome mat that proclaimed You Are Beautiful in block letters had been removed. It was a silly item I had scored at the corner of 12th and Concord after signing the lease on that very apartment. I hadn’t had a stitch of furniture to my name, but I had a welcome mat.
As I inserted my key into the lock, I had to wonder what other “improvements” Marco had made. There was only one way to find out. I switched on a light and the tiny entryway was bathed in light.
“Hello?” I called out.
Blessedly, it appeared I had the apartment to myself. I dropped my belongings next to a chipped table I had found in a back alley and entered the living room/kitchen. My well-loved couch still remained, along with my fifties steamer trunk that acted as a coffee table. As my gaze traveled around the room, taking stock, it didn’t feel like the same home, even though everything was in its rightful place.
A stack of unwashed dishes was piled high in the sink and a used towel draped over the radiator attested to Marco’s messiness. He viewed cleaning as a distraction, which drove me up a freaking wall.
Rolling up my sleeves, I went to tackle the hurricane he’d created when it hit me like a speeding freight train: my apartment didn’t feel like my home any more because it wasn’t.
I had moved there as a grieving twenty-year-old running away from her demons and had found a sanctuary within these fours walls. Within the past month, that scared young girl had been set free, and my sanctuary was no longer comprised of brick and stone. It was in Sean’s arms.
Bowled over by this realization, I didn’t hear the door clicking open or the man that stepped through the threshold. “Melody?”
My eyes rose and landed on Marco. His honey-colored skin was a shade darker than when I’d last seen him and highlighted the flecks of gold in his irises. Ink splattered his jeans in a multicolored rainbow and a shirt billowed open at his collar bone. He played the handsome poet part to a T, and there would no doubt be hoards of woman lining up to take my place.
As my gaze swept over him, not a flutter of attraction or love registered, only a mild form of affection for the friend he had once been.
“What are you doing here?”
I gathered a breath and said the dreaded line no one wanted to hear: “We need to talk.”
I WIPED THE SWEAT OFF my brow and exited stage left.
Matthew had embraced his scuffed appearance and knocked up his rock ‘n’ roller swagger a few notches. The amount of hip thrusts he did had to have broken a record. Women in the audience loved it, though, and a staggering amount of bras littered his feet as he sang.
Ash clamped me on the shoulder. “Good job out there. You were really wailing on those drums.”
“I imagined they were Marco’s face.”
He barked out a laugh. “Whatever works, man. Have you heard from her?”
I checked my phone and a goofy smile lit up my face when a message popped up on my screen. “She landed in New York,” I said, flashing my screen at him so he could see the message.
“Awesome. I’ll keep searching for that girl’s number.”
“Don’t bother. The damage has already been done and I highly doubt she would want to do you a favor.”
“Hey! I'm fucking awesome in bed. No woman has ever complained before.”
Jane, who had taken over for Melody while she was gone, lowered the small handheld camera. “If you need to boast about your skills then your skills aren’t very good in the first place.”
“You want to test that theory, sweetheart?”
“Eww no. I would rather dip myself in a vat of acid.” As she sauntered away, Ash watched her with a level of interest I hadn’t witnessed before.
“Don’t go there,” I warned. “Melody would literally have your balls in a vice grip if you messed with her sister.”
“Pshhh. I may be a man-whore, but I do not mess with women like her. She is a whole other breed I make sure to stay clear of.”
“What? Smart? Sassy? Doesn’t take shit from you?”
Ash pointed his finger at me. “Exactly.”
“Man, Emma did a real number on you.”
“That she did,” Ash muttered as the heartbreak that still haunted him clouded his gaze. “That she did.”
I SAT ON MY BED with a pen in my hand, hashing out a set of lyrics. Melody had given me the confidence to show some of my songs to Matthew, who low and behold went nuts over them. He said they had the right balance of angst he had been searching for.
It felt therapeutic to flex my creative muscles and release the anger that had been holding me hostage since my split with ex-wife.
As Melody said, we were each other’s future. Therefore, I had no reason to hold on to the past anymore and instead could focus on what was ahead.
With her living in New York and me living in Seattle, long distance was a possibility, but in all honesty, I would prefer being together.
Since we both had careers that weren’t based on location, we could potentially go anywhere or hell, travel for a while. I would love to see the world through her eyes.
Caught up in the fantasy, I startled when Ash called my name. My head popped around the curtain. “What?”
“You need to come hear this.”
“Right now? I’m busy.”
“Your hand can use a break for five minutes.”
“Wiseass,” I grumbled as I jumped off the top bunk and padded into the main area. The somber expressions of my bandmates caused an uneasy feeling to take hold. “What’s up? Did someone kick the bucket?
“Sit down,” Matthew said.
I reluctantly lowered myself next to Ash and waited for someone to start speaking.
“There has been a change in plans. The last three tour dates have been canceled.” Matthew handed his cellphone to me with an article pulled up on the screen. “The venue caught fire a couple hours ago.”
I gaped at the picture of the burning inferno. “Holy shit. Did anyone get hurt?”
“Thankfully, no. The response was prompt and everyone got out, but there is almost half a million dollars’ worth of damage.”
“Shit.”
“Supposedly some idiot flicked a still burning cigarette butt into a trashcan full of half empty cans of alcohol.” Ash hands mimicked an explosion. “Whoosh!”
“Did they catch the guy?”
“They did,” Noah answered. “He was blackout drunk and will have a very bad hangover in his cell tomorrow.”
“Serves him right.” Rubbing the back of my skull, I sensed there was more to the story; otherwise the guys wouldn’t have called me out there.
They all exchanged a look, and Ash sighed as he was silently chosen to deliver what I was guessing was the bad news. “We can’t donate the proceeds of our ticket sales to Marco’s son. There isn’t enough money to go around to after this set back.”
That was very bad news indeed. “We can raise the price on the tickets.”
“They are already online and almost completely so
ld out. We can’t. I’m sorry man.”
I glanced at Matthew, who echoed the same sentiments as Ash.
If the medical tourism idea didn’t pan out, Marco’s son’s only option would be to get on Melody’s health insurance plan. I jumped up and paced the carpet as the walls closed in around me.
The distinct possibility of losing Melody ripped my heart out and chopped it into tiny pieces. I couldn’t give her up. I also couldn't let her stand by the side of the wrong man for the next forty years. She belonged with me, no one else.
“Before you go full-on Mad Max on us,” Matthew said. “There is something else.”
I stopped and arched a brow. “Good or bad?”
“Good.”
“Spill it then.”
Matthew glanced at Jane. “Go ahead.”
Setting down the camera, she took her sweet-ass time before she spoke. “A month ago, I dug into Marco’s background and fished around his social media profiles, and there was something off. He only had about fifty friends on Facebook and they seemed like empty accounts.”
“Empty accounts?” I asked.
“Fake profiles.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, I typed his name in again and a few other profiles popped up. One was for a man in Ibiza, Spain, who worked as a contractor. Clicking through his photos, the guy looked remarkably like Marco, but one in particular caught my attention. He was posing with a young boy named Hendrix Rodrigo.”
“His son,” I said.
“That’s what I thought, but underneath the picture was the caption ‘Primito’, which means little cousin in Spanish.”
“But Melody said she checked him out through a former detective. Why didn’t he catch this?”
Jane sniffed. “The former detective she was talking about was an old high school friend who got kicked off the force for shady behavior. The guy probably told Melody whatever she wanted to hear and charged her out the wazoo for it.”
I sank onto the bench, my head spinning. “I can’t believe this. Marco has gone through all this trouble of creating a fake profile and a fake son to con Melody into marrying him for a green card.”
“And her connections. She is very well-known in the artist community, which is a gold mine for an aspiring poet like Marco.”
“It does make sense now,” Sean said. “His poems sound like a broken record. I can’t imagine someone publishing them without a certain amount of buzz surrounding the artist.”
Disbelief heavily coated my words. “They were friends.”
“They spent all of two days together in Spain and when she came back, they were just Facebook friends before he visited her in New York. She knew him as well as a hole in the wall.” Jane pinned me with an assessing stare. “Why aren’t you dancing for joy right now? This means Melody doesn’t have to marry Marco and yet you’re poking holes in the story like you don’t want it to be true. Do you genuinely care for my sister? Or are you also taking her for a ride?”
When Jane called my feelings into question, the shock this newfound information brought on faded into a red haze. My fists curled at my sides as I wished Marco were there in front of me so I could punch his deceiving face. Melody had struggled unbearably the past month with the obligation he had thrust upon her shoulders—an obligation that never existed.
“I don’t understand people like him.” I grabbed a bottle of water and uncapped the lid. “What did he think would happen after they were married? Would he continue the lie about his sick son and conjure up excuse after excuse about why he couldn’t come to the United States? Or would he eventually kill his son off? Or divorce Melody after the mandated two years they had to be together? Why didn’t he just ask her for help instead of conjuring such an elaborate lie?”
“There is no rationality to it,” Ash murmured.
“Marco does show signs of compulsive lying disorder…” Camilla launched into a speech threaded with psycho mumbo jumbo that I tuned out.
Jane gaze hadn’t strayed from my face as she waited for a verbal confirmation that I did in fact care about her sister. There wasn’t any time to put her doubts to rest; I had to text Melody, or better yet, hop on a plane to rescue her from Marco’s manipulative grasp. Besides, in my opinion, talk was cheap.
Five pairs of eyes followed me as I slipped back into the bunk area to pack. Throwing random clothes into a duffel bag, I checked the next available flight to New York. There was one at midnight, arriving two hours later.
I booked it and hoisted the bag over my shoulder. Anticipation pumped my veins full of adrenaline and I felt as if I’d had five cups of espresso. Getting a wink of shuteye on the plane would prove impossible.
“Jane, what’s Melody’s home address?” I asked as I reentered the front of the bus.
“Do you have a plan in place for when you show up at her door like a crazy obsessed stalker?
“She has to know Marco is a lying asshole who deserves to jump off a bridge.”
“Then text her and let her deal with it how she may.”
“You remember how you said even saints need someone to lift them up when the saving becomes too heavy to carry? This is my moment to do exactly that. Your sister needs me, and I intend to show up for her until I’m dead in the ground.”
Warmth shined in Jane’s eyes as the ice melted from her demeanor. “I’ll text you her address. Good luck.”
“Thank you. Really.”
Matthew drummed his fingers on his knees, worried how my act of valor would affect the tour. “When will you be back?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll meet you guys in Durham, ready to drum my heart out—promise.”
“What if things don’t go according to plan?”
Camilla slapped his chest as he winced. “Matthew! Don’t you dare poison the well with your pessimistic attitude. What Matthew is doing his romantic and heartfelt. I’m sure Melody will see it the same way.”
Chastised, Matthew mumbled an apology.
I laughed. “I’ll see you all later.
A chorus of Go get your woman rang out as I exited the bus and got into a waiting taxi.
Once at the airport, I anxiously boarded my flight and stowed my luggage in the compartment above. I planted my ass on the plush leather seat first class provided and my eyes drifted shut as the wheels left the ground.
Hold on Melody. I’ll be there soon.
MARCO’S BROWN EYES CRINKLED AT the corners. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Okay. Hold on. I need something to drink. I’ve been in the writing cave since seven this morning.”
Walking into the kitchen, he cracked open a beer. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a long swallow of the amber liquid.
I waited for him to finish while the tension in the room wrapped around us like a thick wool blanket. Wiping his lips, he brushed past me and sat heavily on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I wrung my hands, sick to my stomach with nerves.
Marco laughed. “You need to chill, Melody. You’re stressing me out.” He titled his bottle toward me. “Take a sip, or there is some whisky under the cabinet if you prefer. My friend Jay got it for me to celebrate my publishing contract.”
I was shocked at his news and the elephant in the room was momentarily forgotten. “You got a publishing contract?”
“Some bigwig at a Random House Jay knows saw my poems laying on her desk and was so moved by them, she offered me a ten-thousand-dollar advance.”
I sputtered at the high amount. “Jesus.”
“Right?! I couldn’t believe it. As soon as the check cleared, Jay and I went to this fancy restaurant in Soho. It was twenty courses and we were there for almost four hours. Four hours! I had never been so drunk or full in my life.” Marco misconstrued my annoyance at his frivolous spending with jealousy. “Don’t worry babe, Jay and I are just friends.”
“What about Hendrix?”
“Who?”
He must have been really exhausted he if didn�
��t remember his own flesh and blood. “Your son,” I said pointedly.
“Oh right. What about him?”
“You could have spent that cash on his medical care instead of on some idiotic dinner.”
Marco flashed me a goofy grin that rubbed me the wrong way. “That’s why we are getting on your health care.”
“It’s called health insurance.”
He waved off my correction with the flick of his wrist. “Same thing.”
“Look, we need to talk about a few recent developments.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and steeled my resolve. “Have you read any magazines lately or seen them in passing on the newsstands?”
Marco scoffed. “Please, I don’t waste my time with that drivel.”
“Okay well there is a story going around about me and Sean, the drummer from Matthew’s band.” Marco’s steady gaze over the neck of the bottle as he took a sip rattled me. He hadn’t a clue about the bomb I was about to drop. “Except it isn’t a story. It’s the truth.”
He glanced down at his watch. “Can you cut to the chase? I need to shower and head to bed in order to be well-rested for our big day tomorrow.”
“We slept together!” I blurted out, unable to contain it any longer.
I retreated a step and prepared for the shitstorm of anger that was about to fly my way. Marco set his beer on the coffee table and gave me a blank expression.
His stony demeanor compelled me to blab like an addict high on cocaine. “I’m really sorry. I never meant to cheat on you or develop feelings for him. It just happened and…”
Marco doubled over while his body shook. Was he crying? Or wait…
He flopped back into the couch cushions and hiccupped, holding his stomach. He was laughing hysterically. What the hell? Had what I said gotten lost in translation? I looked at Marco, at a loss for words.
Wiping a tear from his eye, he straightened. “Your American guilt is adorable.”
“I don’t understand. I cheated on you.”
“And you feel bad so you flew here to confess to your sins?” His tone was taunting.
“I flew here to let you know the wedding is off.”
Marco brushed passed me and chucked the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. “No it isn’t.”
Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3) Page 17
