by Eden Summers
Jan shook her head. “I’m giving it to you to do what is best for your wife. I don’t want to ruin her wedding day, only I have no business keeping this from you.”
Mitch clenched his jaw and took the letter. “Do you know what’s inside?” It could be a note, or a gift. Either way he didn’t want to give it to Alana, but he felt the same guilt as Jan. He no longer had a legitimate reason to keep this a secret.
“Sorry. I have no clue. I do know he’s still in the hotel, though.”
He nodded, staring at the black script of Alana’s name on the front. “Thank you. I’ll deal with it.”
“Again, I’m sorry.” She squeezed his upper arm, conveying her sincerity with pained eyes. “I wish you all the best for the remainder of the night.”
***
Ryan held Alana close, enjoying the proximity of a feminine body a little too much. Not in a sexual way. Christ, no. He missed the way a lady could soothe his darkest thoughts with the graze of her hand or a simple hug.
In the past months, he’d lost the two most important women in his life, and the void was agonizing. His wife, the one he vowed to spend the rest of his life with, couldn’t even attend the wedding of one of his closest friends. That kick in the balls still stung. She hadn’t felt “up to it.” Hell. For Ryan, it was the final straw on top of a ten-story haystack.
Then there was Leah. The woman he’d considered his best friend. The shock of her betrayal still tortured him. He never would’ve imagined she would hide something from him, especially a monumental rumor revolving around his marriage to Julie.
“I wonder what that’s about,” Alana murmured, breaking the spell of his self-pity. She was perched on her tippy toes, peering over his shoulder at Mitch and the wedding planner.
Ryan pulled her close, spinning her until she squealed. Mitch had worked hard to keep family drama away from his bride today. The least Ryan could do was keep her occupied while the groom dealt with whatever had upset Jan. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“He’s not happy.”
Ryan pivoted on his toes, turning Alana so her back faced her husband. No, his friend didn’t look happy. In the brief moments Ryan watched the two speak, Mitch’s features changed from confusion, to annoyance, to barely contained anger.
Worst thing was, Ryan was envious of Alana’s concern. When was the last time his wife had given a fuck about him? Two years? Three? Even the physical act of making love had left them long ago, and now he was suffering from the worst case of blue balls in history.
“I think I better check on him.” Her hands fell from his neck.
“No.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her tighter into his body. “This is my dance.” He spun her again, keeping his focus away from her curious stare while he dragged her to the far end of the dance floor.
“Ryan?”
“Hmm?” He continued to divert his gaze. Alana wasn’t stupid, she’d soon work out that something important was happening, and had been all day. He only needed to keep her occupied for a little longer.
“What’s going on?”
He shrugged, trying to conjure a plan, yet the free scotch he’d been drinking made that difficult. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” Notice what, he had no clue, but keeping her here and talking was the only thing he could come up with.
She paused, waiting for him to continue.
He glanced over his shoulder, found Mitch still chatting with Jan and decided to have a little fun. “OK. Fine.” He huffed. “I’m finding it a challenge to keep the commander in line.” He released a hand from her waist and subtly pointed to his crotch.
Her mouth widened as her gaze lowered between them, then back up again. When she made eye contact, he pressed his lips together, trying not to chuckle at the horror in her features.
“Ryan! What the hell has gotten into you?” She playfully slapped at his chest and made a move to walk away.
He laughed—the first real, freeing laugh he’d experienced in a long time. He’d turned into a quiet, well-mannered gentleman when he married Julie. It was a hard switch from the partying teenager he’d been, yet he willingly changed his ways out of respect for his wife. Now, each day that passed made him yearn for the wildness the rest of the Reckless guys had been living for years. He missed flirting. He missed fun. Most of all he missed his wife, but he didn’t think he would ever get that woman back. Not the caring woman he’d married, anyway.
In two quick steps, he caught up to Alana and grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Come on, Allie, I was joking. You do look gorgeous, though, and the big man notices these things.”
She placed her hands on his chest to stable herself. “Wow. Where did this flirtatious, rock star stereotype come from, Ryan Bennett? I was beginning to think you didn’t have a mischievous bone in your body.”
“Oh, I’ve gotta bone all right.”
Alana snorted, drawing the attention of couples dancing close by.
“OK. So maybe I took it a little too far.” He shrugged.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Alana nodded and they both laughed together, only this time his laughter died out in anguish.
He wanted what Mitch and Alana had. Fuck. Even with the sorrow Gabi and Blake were going through, he would much prefer to suffer in the arms of a loved one, than ache over the slow agony of a dying relationship.
“You OK?”
He clenched his jaw and swallowed over the dryness in his throat. “Yeah.” He had to do something about his marriage. Make a decision. Was he in or out?
“I hope Julie feels better soon.”
His nostrils flared as he stared into Alana’s eyes. He took her pity head on, because apparently now he was a masochistic motherfucker. “We both know she’s not sick.”
Alana winced. “I’m sorry, Ryan. Have you patched things up with Leah yet?”
He sucked in a breath. He wasn’t doing this tonight. The place for this shit was on Dr. Phil, not the dance floor of his friend’s wedding. “I’m not going there.” He couldn’t, because he still refused to admit that the broken friendship with his band manager hurt more than the shit going down with Julie.
“I understand.”
No, she didn’t. Nobody did. Until a few days ago, he’d been the only married member of the group. None of them knew what long-term commitment was. They didn’t understand the strain that festered when you left your wife home alone for weeks on end, while you toured the globe.
“Do you want me to take you back to Mitch?” He asked, having enough of the deep and meaningful game. He tried to keep her occupied for as long as possible, but now he needed booze. Hard, numbing booze.
He glanced around the ballroom, finding the groom a few feet away, watching them. Ryan jerked his head, telling Mitch to come fetch his woman. “I’ll leave you both to it.”
“Thank you for the dance.” Alana leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on the stubble at his cheek and turned to her husband. “Is everything all right?”
Ryan paused, hovering for a moment to see if everything was all right.
“No, Allie. I’m sorry. We need to talk.”
Alana focused on the envelope Mitchell tapped against his suit-clad chest. It was plain, white, with the hotel insignia on the front, along with her name.
“It’s a letter.” He held it out to her. “From your father.”
Her gaze shot to his. “I don’t understand.” She took the envelope and fingered the crisp edges. Her throat tightened, and nausea grew low in her belly. “Why is my father sending me a letter?”
Mitchell sighed, giving her a sad smile. “He’s here, Allie.”
Her stomach nose-dived. “Where?” She turned, scanning the ballroom to make sure her mother was all right.
“Not at the wedding, sweetheart. In the hotel. I found out this morning.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” she whispered, raising her focus to meet his concerned gaze.
He shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to worry you. But that was the reason f
or the increase in security. He wanted to see you today and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” A calloused hand grabbed hers, entwining their fingers. “Did I make the right decision?”
“Yes.” She nodded. There was no doubt. No need to consider. Alana couldn’t bear to think what would’ve happened if her parents were placed in the same room together. Her mother wasn’t ready for that. “I still don’t understand, though. Why is he here?”
“I assume the letter will explain.”
Alana stared at the weight that grew heavier in her hand, unsure whether to open it, especially tonight. Since she was a little girl, she’d longed for a father. Not just someone to play catch with her, or tell her how beautiful she was, she yearned for the love only a dad could give. The tiny piece of her that had always been missing. She wanted a man to care for her and her mother. Anyone except the man she’d grown up loathing.
Yet her grandparents had spoken of a kind-hearted soul. One who cared for her from afar. A normal guy who made a monumental mistake he hadn’t stopped paying for. Time had given her the confidence to decide she could never love a man capable of hurting her mother, but being able to understand him would be nice.
“Do you think I should open it?” she asked. Pressure built in her chest. She needed to read what was inside the letter. But would the contents ruin their night?
“I can’t answer that, Allie.” Mitchell spoke low, the sorrow heavy in his voice. “I can deal with whatever is in there. I’m just not sure if you can.”
She wasn’t sure either, and there was only one way to find out. With an increasing heartbeat, she opened the envelope, convincing herself she could stop at any moment. Then the letter was unfolded in her shaking hands, the neat script staring back at her, and it was too late to turn back.
Dearest Alana,
I wanted you to know I was here. That your father was thinking of you on your wedding day. Although I’ve never been a part of your life, you have always meant everything to me. And I hope, with your mother and Mitchell’s blessing, that in the future, we can get to know one another.
I’ve made mistakes. We all know that. And I’ve suffered every day because of them. But none more so than today—the day my daughter got married. I wish you both all the happiness in the world. I wish you luck, and success, and love, but most of all I wish upon you the ability to forgive.
With love,
Chris Bowen.
Her eyes burned, the slow trail of tears flowing down her cheeks to hit the paper.
“You OK, sweetheart?” Mitchell’s hands stroked her upper arms, wiping away the frigid cold in her chest.
“I think so.” She was shaking, her hands, her arms, her legs. She re-read the letter, her heart clenching a little more this time.
“I have his room number if you want to see him.”
Did she want that? Her gaze sought her mother again. The soft glow from the table candles illuminated her happiness. Finally, after years of living with a haunted past, she was starting to let go. To be free from the fear that overtook her for so long.
“No.” Alana shook her head, carefully placing the letter back into the envelope. “Not tonight.” She stepped into Mitchell, wrapping her arms around his waist and brushed her lips against his. “Today has been perfect. I married the man I adore. My mom is finally losing some of the craziness we’ve all grown to fear. And my father…” she shrugged, “loves me.”
Never in her wildest dreams could her wedding day be so fulfilling.
“You’re a strong woman, Alana.”
No. She wasn’t strong. She gained her strength from the people who supported her—Mitchell, her mother, the Reckless Beat crew. Having them behind her made everything easier, she only hoped Blake and Gabi felt the same with their struggles.
“I’m strong because you love me.”
“And I always will.” He kissed her, his tongue breaching her mouth with a delicate sweep. They swayed to the music, their passion heating with every brush of their lips.
“Why don’t we say goodbye to our guests and head to the penthouse?” she asked.
He rested his head against hers and tilted the hardness of his erection into her abdomen. “How about we skip the formalities? I can’t wait that long.”
She chuckled against his lips, her core already clenching at the thought of alone time. He took her hand and stepped back, leading her around the darkened edge of the ballroom, to escape unnoticed.
It was the end of a brilliant day, and only the start of a beautiful life together.
“Time to get laid, brother.” Mason pushed from his chair, less than enthusiastic about the prospect as he patted Sean on the back. “I’ll catch you later.”
He was in the mood for a leggy blonde. Or a redhead. Maybe both, if they were lucky.
“Who are you taking home tonight?” Ryan slurred and slumped forward in his chair. The poor guy was drowning his Oompa Loompa sorrows, and Mason didn’t have the heart to ask why. He wasn’t good with marital issues. They all knew he’d never had a long-term relationship.
“Not sure, buddy, but maybe your next drink should be water.”
“Water?” Ryan frowned. “I don’t get you,” he raised his voice, waving a drunken finger in Mason’s direction. “Ninety-nine, point fuckin’ nine, nine, nine, nine percent of the time you are a dick. A big dick. Then you tell me to drink some water and I fall in love wiff you all over again.”
Ryan’s head fell back, and for a moment Mason grinned, thinking the poor guy had passed out. Then the guitarist swung forward, teetering in an upright position. “Why’d you do that?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “Why are you a dick? Then not a dick?”
Mason ignored the question as his smile faded. He had no control over the asshole he’d become. He didn’t like it, yet this was who he was now. The music industry had made him into a skeptical, heartless prick, and he’d resigned himself to the lifestyle. Some people had love and happiness and friendships that didn’t end in backstabbing and deceit. Others had fame and fortune and the nastiness that followed. Nobody got it all. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to cry a river over the hand he’d been dealt. His cards were still fucking brilliant.
“Sean, get him some water, would ya?” Mason had lived through enough A-grade hangovers to know Ryan didn’t need one right now.
“Yeah. No problem.” Sean nodded and pushed from his chair. “Have fun.”
Mason gave a two-finger salute and strode off to find the bride and groom. He skirted the dance floor, keeping his gaze away from Alana’s vulture of a friend, Kate. The woman didn’t have a subtle bone in her body, and there was no way she was getting his tonight.
“Ahh, just the man I wanted to see.” Leah’s voice sent a shiver down his spine.
He hated that she now made him nervous. He didn’t do nervous. Never had…until recently.
“Hello, Leah,” he drawled, not making eye contact. “I’m about to say goodbye to the happy couple and call it a night.”
“They already left. Good decision though, you need all the sleep you can get.”
A pulse ticked to life under his right eye. “Don’t start.” He narrowed his gaze on her, backing up his demand with the visual threat. He didn’t want to start a fight in the middle of a wedding.
“I’m not starting anything.”
Yeah, she was. She’d been hassling him for months, her phone calls and emails becoming more frequent and demanding. The looming pressure was becoming too much. He no longer had the drive to create a new album. Or go on tour for fans who loved Reckless one minute, then fucked them over on every social media outlet the next. All he had to do was miss a note, or have Sean fumble a beat, or Mitch fuck up a chord. Then the claws came out and the nastiness began. Everyone was a critic. Loyalty was a thing of the past.
The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off.
He couldn’t even trust his relatives anymore. They didn’t give a shit about his life. They cared about free concert ti
ckets and the popularity that filtered through the family tree. Yet they only stuck around during the good days. If a scandal broke, or bad publicity spanned the headlines, his uncles would be straight on the phone to his mom, bitching and complaining about how it affected their lives. His life, and the lives of his bandmates, were nobody’s fucking business.
“I told you I’d back off for tonight,” Leah continued. “I’m here as a guest, not as your band manager.”
Well then, lay the hell off. Constantly bugging him about a muse he had no control over wouldn’t help kick-start the next album. “Good night, then.” He’d had enough. He was drained, tired in body and mind, and for once he wanted peace. He wanted to go home alone and not scrutinize himself on the reasons behind his songwriting issues.
“I’ll give you a week,” Leah added. “After that, I’m going to ride you so hard your ass bleeds.” Her face broke out in a dazzling smile. “And it might be the alcohol talking, but I’m kinda looking forward to it.”
He clenched his jaw and fought hard to bite back the anger poised at his tongue. He hated this. Hated being unable to do his job. Hated that his muse had packed up and gone on a vacation with no end in sight. Most of all he hated being weak. He was the front man and songwriter for one of the bestselling rock bands in the world—he didn’t do weak. He did loud and proud and fucking awesome.
“Fuck it, Leah.” He threw his arms up in the air, unconcerned by the way she jerked back. “I quit.”
The label could find another sucker to earn them billions. He’d started on the music path with stars in his eyes and music the solitary focus in his heart. Now he was a monster, and worst of all, he’d become used to the constant criticism. No wonder his muse was dead and buried, how could he write when he hated himself?
The humor fled Leah’s features. “Mason, get a grip. I was joking.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
He was walking away. Taking a break. Giving himself time to consider the different paths on offer because he was fed up with the road he was on. There were too many rules. Too many fucked up issues that manipulated the heart of his music. All their songs had to stick to a similar style. They couldn’t deviate. They couldn’t test the waters with other genres or sounds.
