Fame And Secrets (Lords Of Lyre Book 2)

by Cora Kenborn

  My mother drove erratically trying to escape my abusive father and we were hit by a drunk driver. My father tried to end my life during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of self-discovery. Julian’s sociopathic female bandmate had such a delusional obsession with him that she tried to murder me—twice.

  If I had my way, I’d have a home birth.

  “Why were you in my house?” I repeated. “We just moved in. Only Ryker knew we were in town.”

  Julian’s brother, Ryker, and the rest of the band had moved to the West Coast two weeks earlier. We stayed in Manhattan so Julian could tie up loose ends. I spent the time completing stacks of paperwork to sublet my apartment to a co-worker from my job at Vinyl magazine.

  “You’ve already asked me that question,” Faith said, pursing her lips.

  “Then you should’ve answered the first time.”

  She rested her cheek on her palm with her elbow propped up on the chair. “Okay, quid pro quo. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”

  Arguing with her would be pointless. Faith’s rich studio executive husband owned a public relations firm in Hollywood and gave it to her as a wedding gift. But Faith was no trophy wife. She was a shark among guppy models and bottom-feeding actresses. She bullshitted people for a living. The woman could talk a celebrity client out of being caught cheating on his wife red-handed and have the media apologizing for wasting her time.

  “Fine,” I conceded. “The band’s doing some publicity thing in Phoenix. Yes, I’ve taken my meds, and I went to the doctor before we left New York. Does that cover it?”

  “Not even.” She smirked, crossing her arms. “What happened tonight?”

  I stared at her, my humor gone. “I meant for you to answer my questions now.”

  “And I meant to have Leonardo DiCaprio as a client, a husband that doesn’t fuck around on me, and a yacht by the time I turned twenty-five. What’s your point?”

  I arced an eyebrow. “The point is, if you don’t answer me, I’ll scream for security and tell them you’re one of Julian’s crazy-ass fans.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  A silent dare danced in her eyes. Moving my finger over to the call nurse button, I continued to stare. With no reaction, I grinned and sank my finger deep into the groove.

  Cursing, she scrambled to her feet. “Shit! I didn’t really think you’d do it.”

  I motioned to her empty chair. “I’m waiting.”

  She raised both palms. “Damn it, okay. Zane told me you guys were in LA. I wanted to surprise you. There, are you happy?”

  “Zane?” Undeniable sparks flew between them during the surprise birthday party Julian threw for me back in the fall, but Faith was a married woman, albeit unhappily. I assumed the harmless flirting ended that night.

  “We’re just friends,” she warned.

  My raised hand halted her confession. “That’s exactly what I told Julian about us.”

  Her mouth opened for rebuttal when the hospital room door flew open and two nurses barreled inside. One of them frantically pulled a blood pressure machine behind her, while the other slapped my arm in the cuff and shoved a thermometer into my mouth.

  I yanked the thermometer from between my lips. “What the hell?”

  A heavyset older nurse glanced at me nervously. “You pushed the emergency button. We, uh, well, we know who you are.”

  The thinner, younger nurse interrupted with a clipped tone. “Lynn!”

  The nurse glanced at her colleague unapologetically. “Oh, like she doesn’t know.” She returned attention back to me. “You aren’t our first celebrity.”

  The word grated on my frayed nerves. “I’m not a celebrity.”

  Her smile caught me off guard. “You are by association.” Squinting at the blood pressure results, she wrinkled her nose.

  I nodded toward the machine. “Is it bad?”

  “It could be better. I’ll let Dr. Thomas explain more. For the time being, try to keep it to a dull roar.” They quietly closed the door behind them.

  I turned my gaze back to Faith. “So, Zane, huh?” Her cheeks flamed and she tensed. “You don’t have to answer. But I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t warn you.”

  Her fingers absentmindedly trailed the fabric of the chair. “About what?”

  “Life with a rock star isn’t a walk in the park. It’s hard, Faith. They’re gone a lot. You need to have trust—phenomenal trust. Thousands of screaming women beg to touch him. They dream and fantasize about him. He has to cater to them.” I shrugged. “It’s hard when they’re gorgeous. Then there’s the cameras flashing in your face every time you walk down a street, eat a meal, or go to the bathroom.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

  “I heard you.” She lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “We’re just friends.”

  “Whatever you say.” Letting it go, I gave her a genuine smile. “I’m happy to have you close again, Faith. After what happened at the house, I don’t have a good feeling…” I trailed off as the doors swung open, and a young doctor with tanned skin and straight white teeth walked in.

  “Miss Ryan, I presume?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dr. Thomas. I see you were brought in with some pain.” Overwhelmed, I simply nodded. “From your test results, it looks like dehydration has caused Braxton Hicks contractions. I checked your admittance exam notes and, thankfully, you’re not dilated.”

  My head swam. “I haven’t had a chance to attend child birth classes. Braxton Hicks?”

  He scratched his forehead with his pen. “Call it false labor. Have you been under any unusual stress lately?”

  I shot faith a warning glance. “A little. But the pain stopped. That’s good, right?”

  “For now, yes. But you’re also twenty-seven weeks. You have to keep your stress level low and start taking better care of yourself if you want to make it to your due date.”

  Faith’s hand gripped mine. He continued, but I’d tuned him out by that point, concentrating only on Faith’s hands as she dug into her pocket once more, her brow furrowed.

  He patted one of my legs. “Just try to rest. We’ll keep you for observation overnight.” He turned to Faith, studying her carefully. “And you are…?”

  Faith interjected before I could open my mouth. “Her sister.”

  Shrugging, he exited the room as quickly as he’d entered. As the door closed, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “Sister, huh?”

  Her eyes widened as she walked toward the door. “Meh, we could be. I got all the good genes in the family, though.” I threw a pillow at her head as she opened the door. “Behave yourself,” she warned. “I’m going to make a phone call.”

  As the room silenced, I focused on the rhythmic bleep of the fetal heart rate monitor vibrating in my ears like a well-orchestrated symphony. Thank god Julian was gone. With publicity interviews and an upcoming tour, people constantly pulled him in twenty different directions. Judging from his trip wire mood before he left, he currently balanced on a ready to snap mode.

  Julian didn’t need the stress of knowing what happened. Faith wouldn’t tell him, not with the shit I had on her and Zane. I’d threaten her within an inch of her life to keep quiet.

  I told myself the omission of truth protected him, but I knew it was to protect myself.

  If I didn’t speak of it, it wasn’t true.

  Elisabeth Cayden didn’t die by the same hand that butchered me three years ago.

  Chapter Two

  Julian

  The hum of traffic below the ninth-floor window escalated, and I threw my pencil across the room. Balling up the piece of paper, I chucked it into the wastebasket with a disgusted snort. It didn’t matter. The lyrics I’d written were shit.

  Three days into our publicity tour and I already ran on autopilot. Attempts to write a new song for the upcoming albu
m proved to be an exercise in futility. I couldn’t concentrate with thoughts of her controlling my brain. Interlocking my fingers behind my head, I stared out the window. It was dark in Phoenix, so the sky would be the same in LA.

  For the tenth time, I glanced at my silent cell phone. Ten times I’d called her, and ten times I’d gotten kicked to voice mail. I told myself paranoia and lack of sleep led to an overactive imagination, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling something was wrong. I had the same feeling when someone I considered family had attacked her.

  If I could bleach away the images in my head of that night, I’d fall on my knees in gratitude. Because of it, I awoke countless times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat—just to make sure she was safe.

  Now, because of him, that same black feeling tore me apart.

  “Goddamn it!” I hit speed dial again, only to be met with the same mocking voice mail. I attempted to keep my tone even. “Hey, princess, it’s me, again. I know I’m being paranoid but I’ve tried to reach you all night.” I ran the back of my hand across my damp forehead. “Call me as soon as you get this. I’m worried about the baby, and…Phoebe, just call me, okay?”

  I placed the phone on the table and willed it to ring. Muttering under my breath, I scooped it up again, hitting another speed dial number I’d worn out in the last few hours. Unlike Phoebe’s phone, this one rang three times before transporting me to voice mail.

  “I don’t know where the hell you are, or why you’re not answering, but someone had better pick up some-fucking-where before I have an aneurysm.” I sank on the bed and dropped my forehead into my hand. “You know what’s at stake. Call me back. I don’t care what time.” Disconnecting the call, I closed my eyes.

  God, I’m tired.

  My body ached, and my brain hurt. I needed sleep, but there’d be none tonight. The minute I closed my eyes the nightmares would start anyway. They’d begun to alter my personality and turned me into a brooding introvert.

  I had all I’d ever wanted in life. The woman I loved lived in my house, wore my ring, and was having my baby. It was all too perfect.

  Too perfect.

  Of course, this was when my life usually went to shit. Standing up, I picked up my phone and rolled it over in the palm of my hand.

  “She’s fine, Jagger.”

  I cringed at the nickname the band had given me in our early years. Dropping the phone back on the table, I returned to the window and stared at the cars as they drove below.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Zane’s voice was gruff from two hours of singing and shooting a bottle of Jack. “Yes, I do.”

  “How?”

  He laughed sarcastically. “Because that chick of yours scares me, brother. But the offer still stands if you want—”

  I faced my best friend, my eyes heavy with fatigue. “No, I don’t want those people near her.”

  “I think you do, but whatever, bro.” He flopped backward onto the hotel bed.

  My patience snapped. “I need some sense of control here, Z. Otherwise, I’ll lose my mind.” Nodding, he pulled a bottle from inside his jacket and took a drink, then pushed it toward my chest. I rolled my eyes. “I’m not thirsty.”

  He stroked his long beard. “Take the bottle, Jag. You’re a ticking time bomb, and I’m too fucking tired to clean up your explosion.”

  Taking the half-empty bottle, I closed my eyes as the warm liquid coated my throat. I handed it back to Zane and sank into the desk chair. “Not that I’m going to change my mind—because I’m not—but would she see them?”

  Zane took another swig. “Not unless there’s a reason. I told you, these aren’t the police. They don’t do things by the book. If Phoebe’s threatened, they’ll take care of it.”

  His words didn’t make me feel better. “At what cost?”

  His expression remained stoic. “I’m going to tell you this one time, bro. They don’t care if you’re Julian Bale or Bob Smith. It’s a job—it’s what they do. If their job is threatened, they make it not threatened. Got it?”

  “I wish somebody would answer the damn phone. I’m riding on about four hours of sleep in the last three days.”

  “I figured. That’s why I came here before hitting the bar.” Pushing off the bed, Zane pulled a balled fist out of his jacket pocket and extended it toward me. Hesitantly, I held out my hand as he dropped two small blue pills into my palm.

  “Sleeping pills?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m not taking random sleeping pills.” I shoved my hand back into his chest.

  “Do you want to sleep, or would you like to end up in the mental insti-fucking-tution?” he snarled. “Now take the goddamn pills before I punch you in the face.”

  He lifted the bottle, and I closed my fingers around it, swallowing the pills. “What kind of father am I going to be if I can’t take care of my kid before it’s even born?”

  Leaning his head against the wall, Zane stared up at the ceiling. “You’re going to be a kick-ass father, and you know it. This insta-family isn’t exactly conventional…but, hell, you and Phoebe have never been conventional.”

  For the first time all night, a grin snaked across my face. “I guess that makes you Uncle Zane, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m deciding if I should take him to get sleeves on his fifth or sixth birthday.”

  The easy banter calmed me. “No tattoos on my kid until he’s at least ten.” I laughed. “Besides, what if it’s a girl?”

  He smirked again. “Nipple ring?”

  Scowling, I picked up my phone and threw it at his head. “That shit’s not funny, Z. You’re not getting near my daughter, you freak.”

  Silence invaded the room as we stared at each other—an unspoken alliance. For a few moments, he’d succeeded in redirecting my paranoia. Suddenly dizzy, I shook my head as shapes distorted my vision in a blurred haze. “What the…?” A soft chuckle to my right swiveled my head in its direction, the movement making me feel like a bobble head.

  “Good night, Jagger.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” I slurred.

  “You’ll be out in less than five minutes.”

  The room spun. I tried to stand up, but the floor tilted below my feet. “What the hell were those things anyway?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I attempted, without success, to cock an eyebrow. “Are they legal?”

  “In a couple countries.” Everything moved in slow motion as Zane maneuvered me to the bed and pushed me down with a friendly shove. “Sleep it off, man. In the morning, you’ll talk to Phoebe and realize you’re a paranoid douche.” He chuckled and closed the door behind him.

  It took me four tries to remove my boots. Each time, my hand slipped from the heel, catapulting me onto the floor. Finally, throwing the right one across the room, I crawled back up the bed and fell against the pillows. As my eyes closed, whiskey swam in my stomach until the darkness took it all away, depositing me into blissful nothingness.

  ***

  I tore through the halls of the hospital, cursing every word I could pull from my vast, offensive vocabulary. A few nurses popped their heads up to complain when Zane shot them a look, his expression conveying a dark enough message they backed off.

  He was on my shit list too. Those fucking pills knocked me out cold last night. Otherwise, I’d have been awake to hear Faith’s message.

  “Hey, Julian, it’s Faith Addison. Don’t be mad, but Phoebe’s in the hospital. She didn’t want me to tell you because she says everything’s okay. She had some sort of anxiety attack and some contractions. She’s going home in the morning, so no need to worry. I’ll have her call you from the house. Again, don’t be mad at her, okay? I just thought you deserved to know.”

  No need to worry.

  Right.

  Mid-stride, I shot Zane a venomous side glare. “You knew?

  At least he had the decency to seem halfway apologetic. “Yeah, but I didn’t know they’d go all Th
elma and Louise.”

  “You’re fucking her?”

  I grunted as he punched my arm. “Shut up, asshole. We’re just friends.”

  I wanted to argue, but we’d reached her room. “Wait outside.”

  “Don’t be a dick, Jag,” he warned, leaning against the wall.

  Pushing the door open, anger over being left in the dark won over immediate concern.

  “Did you forget my number?”

  Immediately, her eyes widened, and her fingers contracted around her phone. “Julian. I was just about to call you.”

  “I have one question.” She looked down at her shaking hand, but I was too worked up to coddle her. “Phoebe, look at me.”

  She attempted to catch a teardrop before it rolled down her cheek. “Julian…”

  “I said, look at me.” I leaned against the doorframe, my body vibrating with a confusing mix of fury and lust. It was the dichotomy of our entire relationship. Phoebe and I pissed each other off more than anyone else ever could, yet no one else elicited such violent, physical need in either of us. “This is the second time, Phoebe.”

  “Excuse me?” She came alive with the spitfire hostility that drew me to her the moment we met.

  “This is the second time you’ve ended up in the hospital pregnant and not told me. Anything else you’d like to share? You’ve got my full and undivided attention, princess.”

  Chapter Three

  Phoebe

  The man before me stood at his breaking point.

  The light beard that always dusted his cheeks and chin had grown in his short absence. It was noticeably heavier, as if he hadn’t bothered shaving in days. His labored breathing and glassy eyes revealed a severe lack of sleep. Chaotic hair leaned to the side as he rested his forehead in the palms of his hands.

  I managed two raspy words. “I’m sorry.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?”