I tighten my fists, pressing them against the luxurious seat. “Tell me you’re not scamming her.”
“I’m not scamming her,” Dad says quickly, and I flick my eyes to him.
His attention is focused firmly ahead. Angela and Ezra’s car leaves before us, and I follow Dad’s gaze to the sparkling lights from skyscrapers in the distance, to the increasing presence of Porsches and Mercedes, and the slender palm trees that sweep above the road.
I sigh and settle into the leather seat of the car. I took a bus to Los Angeles from Louisville, and I’m still uncomfortable from the journey. I spent last night in a motel, one I considered expensive for my budget, even though cigarette smoke wafted through the room and the carpet was stained.
Dad’s lied before, and his statement isn’t reassuring. It just makes it more difficult to confront him. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s really happy, and we’re really going to be a new family.
We drive along the coast. The waves and wide emptiness transfix me, and I am surprised when Dad pulls up in front of a gated home in Santa Monica. A brawny, tattooed security guard waves him through, and my chest tightens. If Dad gets in trouble, it could be big trouble.
Scamming the mother of such a famous person? I close my eyes and then open them quickly when visions of Dad’s bad behavior described by newspapers flash across my mind. And what if they go digging and find . . . my chest clenches, and I try to push that thought from my mind.
“Come on.” Dad steps from the car, and I follow him, my mind racing, trying to find some way to stop this, but not knowing how to.
Angela pulls me into another a tight hug. “Welcome to your new home!”
I nod, but my chest feels hollow and my face tightens. I step away quickly. She doesn’t know what is coming. I avert my eyes when Angela’s face seems to fall, and my fingers clench.
Dad, ever observant, takes her hand, and she once again smiles. I hate that I’m the person making her unhappy, but the sight of her utter joy under my father’s attention makes my heart clench even more.
I follow Angela and Dad into the home. It’s modern, with tall, airy rooms and huge views of the Pacific Ocean. Ivory-colored furniture abounds, and everything seems perfect.
Ezra isn’t in the room and my shoulder relaxes. Looking at all that hotness would just unsettle me even more than I already am.
Something brushes against my feet, and I dart my gaze down to a cat. It has brown and white fur, though its ear is torn, and some of its fur is rough and entirely absent in places.
“That’s Trixie, Ezra’s rescue cat,” Angela says.
I smile and pick the cat up, running my hands through her uneven fur, so Trixie is soon purring.
Angela smiles at me. “Most people are a bit scared of her.”
Dad frowns at me. “Well everyone can tell she was in a fire, can’t they? We can get a nicer cat. Maybe take it to shows. Let’s drink.”
Angela hands Dad a bottle of champagne, and he pops it open, the sound echoing through the elegant home like a gunshot. The frothy liquid spills on the granite countertop of the bar and then on the thick white rug below.
I flinch at the sound and the sight of the liquid staining the elegant, perfect surroundings.
Angela breaks into peals of laughter and grabs a kitchen towel to start cleaning the mess.
“I’ll help you with that.” I take the towel from her and clean the spill, still holding Trixie in my arms.
“Hey, Alec.” Ezra’s voice interrupts my musing. I swing around, and he’s as hot as always. His blond hair looks tousled, and his smile seems tight, but the way his succulent lips turn up still sends my body into a wave of need and desire. His eyes dart to my arms. “You’re holding Trixie!”
I shrug. “She likes being held.”
Ezra looks at me strangely. “Most people don’t like her scars.”
He scratches the back of Trixie’s neck, and I let him take her in his arms.
I rub my fingers through my hair and notice Dad’s assessing eyes on me. I drop my hand and stuff my fingers in my pockets. “Hey.”
My voice sounds husky, and the greeting is weak against everything I want to tell him. Like, Don’t trust us and you’re gorgeous. I suck in a breath, the air scented by the huge flower arrangements that cover the polished surfaces. My chest rises, and I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans when I realize Ezra’s eyes are on me, no doubt thinking my tattered shirt and decidedly un-designer jeans do not belong in the midst of all this perfection.
Ezra’s face pales, and he swivels his back to me, busying himself with laying out gold-rimmed champagne flutes.
Dad exchanges some words with Ezra that I cannot hear. He pours the champagne, and I’m glad nothing spills this time. He hands me a flute, and I clutch the crystal glass in my hand. White flowers etched into the design sweep over the crystal. I’ve never touched anything so fancy, and I’m conscious of my grubby hands, my ragged fingernails.
Some emotion must be flickering across my face because Angela lets out a cry.
“You must be exhausted, darling!” she exclaims, and it takes me too long to figure out that she’s referring to me. “Let’s all sit down!”
We settle onto a white couch, and I’m self-conscious of my bulky size and the fact that I don’t belong here. I flit my gaze around the room, noticing souvenirs from around the world: Chinese wall hangings of craggy mountains, Venetian masks, and delicate carved animals.
“To our new family.” Dad toasts, and we clink glasses.
I swallow hard, and the bubbles scratch my throat. Trixie slides her body next to my feet and I pick her up, running my hands over her fur, until she purrs in contentment. Ezra’s gaze falls on me, but he soon darts his eyes away.
“So tell me about your internship,” Angela says, and my shoulders relax as I tell her about the program.
“Wow!” Angela says. “You must be so smart. That’s very competitive. And engineering . . .”
Even Ezra regards me with something like wonder in his eyes, and I shift my too-long legs against the white-carpeted floor. “It’s nothing.”
Lots of people go into engineering. Lots of people are top of their class. I’m good at studying, good at problem solving. But few people become top music artists.
“Now tell me about Kentucky,” Angela says. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Oh?” I say politely, even though I’m sure that’s not true. At least the part of Kentucky I grew up in.
“Definitely,” Angela exclaims. “All that bluegrass music. And the Kentucky Derby, with those brilliant hats. Tell me, how do you choose which horse to bet on?”
“I don’t,” I mutter. “I’ve never—”
Dad clears his throat. “Alec lets me choose, don’t you, son?”
We lock eyes for a moment. I’m tempted to say he’s lying, that he’s never been to the Derby either, that the Derby is only for rich people, and that’s so not us—or it wasn’t us when we both lived there—but something in his eyes makes me stop.
Maybe he really is in love. Angela certainly is. And if he did fall in love with the mother of such a famous, wealthy rock star, wouldn’t he be tempted to lie? Especially when it’s in his nature anyway.
I don’t know the situation yet, not fully. I’m not going to make any rash announcements that might tear apart the life Dad is so proud of cultivating. I think of the security guard outside and the media that would love a scandal.
How could Dad get a job if anyone who Googles him discovers he was trying to scam Ezra Williamson’s mother?
I shift on the too-smooth, too-soft sofa and avert my eyes down, irritated when my gaze falls on Ezra’s long, muscular legs and my mind turns to all the things I could do to them.
“Clearly, Dad remembers the Derby better.” I press my lips together. I yawn and stand up. My drink is half-touched. “We should probably go, Dad.”
“Oh, yes. You must be exhausted after your long bus ride. I don�
�t know why you didn’t just take the plane. If you fly business class, flying actually isn’t that bad.” Angela pulls me into her arms, just like a real mother would.
“Ah . . .” Dad says, “Alec likes discovering America.”
“Yes, highways are very scenic,” I say dryly, but nobody laughs.
“Ezra loves to travel, don’t you, honey?” Angela nods at her son. “He brings back all these great things from his tours.”
Ezra nods. “But home is always best.”
Angela laughs and tousles his hair.
She turns back to me. “Hope you enjoy California. It’s so nice to meet you. So nice Ezra will have a brother now. It’s hard being all alone.”
“Er . . . yes.” I clear my throat, unaccustomed to all this kindness and conscious that all the trust she’s placing in Dad, in me, will be broken. I hate that. “Nice—nice meeting you.”
I practically rush out of their home, just in case Ezra is a hugger too. My body couldn’t bear touching him, knowing it would never be able to touch him again.
Dad follows me, and I step into the car, slamming the door behind me.
“Hey,” Dad says, settling into the driver’s seat, “we haven’t watched the sunset yet!”
“I’m sure you’re going to go back to watch another time.”
Dad’s shoulders relax. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m glad you’re being so understanding about this whole thing.”
“You didn’t have to leave so early,” Dad grumbles.
“I’m tired.” I cross my arms against my chest.
Dad gives an exasperated sigh. I follow his gaze to Ezra’s home. The place is massive, and there’s plenty of space for Dad and me there. And even if they divorced, Ezra would still have lots of money. Angela wouldn’t be bankrupt, would hardly notice the difference, even if she does have to pay Dad some alimony. That much is true. It’s tempting to be lured into Dad’s way of thinking. Why should Angela be rich just because Ezra is? Why can’t Dad get some of that money too? It’s not like he makes her unhappy. In fact, she seems to be bursting with joy.
Yet I’ve seen the way she looks at him, how her mouth parts, and her eyes mist in his presence. And I’ve also seen the way Dad looks at her, but I don’t trust that the way his lips turn up when she enters the room is genuine. I don’t trust anything about Dad. Not anymore.
“The last woman you married ended up in rehab for six months,” I say, frowning at the beautiful view of palm trees and ocean before us. “Have you told Angela that?”
“Poor Margaret.” Dad exhales. “That was a difficult time for me.”
“For you?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“It was a great trial when I discovered the woman of my dreams had a bad drug problem. I hate the idea of divorce, but obviously there was nothing I could do.” He shrugs, and his smile is boyish. I’m reminded again of how close we are in age. I was born when he was fifteen, and now the man is only in his late thirties, more handsome than ever. Just the type of man to sweep a woman away.
Singing wafts through an open window. It’s not Ezra’s tenor voice though. It’s a pleasant alto. Angela.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I can’t bear listening to Angela sing. Can’t bear to think of her happy because I don’t trust Dad not to break her heart. The house is large and pleasant, with flowers everywhere, but I know Dad and I will do nothing to make the house nicer.
My fingers tighten, and my spine is rigid, even against the luxurious seat.
“I love this view,” Dad says as he glances back at the house. I don’t blame him. The sea is before us, replacing the rows of trailers I grew up around, the ones distinguished only by the different colors of plastic chairs littering the dry, unwatered patches of grass.
If I close my eyes, I can still hear the whiz of race cars from television stations during racing season, masked only by the sound of couples arguing.
No, Dad doesn’t want to go back there. That much is clear. And if Mom had never gotten pregnant, maybe he never would have had to spend time there anyway. I swallow hard, and I can still taste the champagne in my mouth, a sign of a life I should never have. Maybe if Mom had never gotten pregnant, Mom and Dad would have finished high school, maybe even gone to college. Maybe they would have had proper health care, and . . . I shake my head. No good is going to come of me thinking like that, thinking of that day we put Mom in the ground and Dad and I vowed to do whatever it took to get the hell out of the trailer park and all the memories there.
Our approaches on how to leave that life behind varied. Dad hoped I would join the army, maybe be one of the Special Forces guys he saw on television series, and I wanted an education.
I don’t want to leap around buildings shooting a gun, like the more presumably glamorous soldiers he admires. I know how easy it is to be born in the wrong place and to be forced into doing the wrong things. I don’t want to kill people, even if they are our official enemy.
So instead I studied engineering, concentrating on facts.
Dad—Dad had a different path. But judging from the sleek curves of his car, he’s been successful at it so far. Too successful.
He glides the car down the hill and onto the coastal road. The salty ocean mixes with the scent of plants and flowers, and the descending sun’s rays warm my neck.
“Nice wheels, huh?” Dad grins, and I notice the designer sunglasses on the dashboard, the logo glinting under the setting sun.
“Where did you get these things?” I ask.
Dad grins. “Your new stepbrother is generous.”
“He shouldn’t have given them to you.” I move the car into the left lane and speed up.
“Not give them to his future father?” Dad opens his mouth in mock surprise. “I’m shocked. You need to spend more time with him. Get to know your new brother.”
“Stepbrother,” I correct.
“Apples and oranges.” Dad shrugs.
“So completely different, you agree.” For some reason it’s suddenly very important that Dad admit that Ezra and I won’t be actual brothers, though I know I should be thinking differently. If Dad is talking about us being actual brothers, maybe it means he’s really serious about Angela and won’t just break her heart once he thinks he can collect alimony from her.
God, if Dad were actually happy for once . . . that would be amazing.
And he says he’s happy, and Angela clearly is wonderful, so maybe I’m the only one being silly and suspicious. Maybe Margaret was always going to be a drug addict, even though her nice, upper-middle-class lifestyle fooled me. But maybe she fooled Dad too? Maybe Dad had lots of bad luck with his love life after Mom.
But that’s normal, right? Mom was amazing. And it’s not like I’ve found anyone.
A vision of Ezra pops into my mind, and I shake my head. Must not think about my new brother like that. Heat tingles the back of my neck, and I squirm in my seat as shame overtakes me.
Dad tilts his head at me, and I shiver under his appraising eyes. “Ezra is quite handsome.”
I jut out my chin. Some comments I won’t deign answering.
“You know, hundreds of thousands of schoolgirls probably have his face decorating their lockers,” Dad continues.
I don’t know why I ever told him I was gay. Clearly, I wasn’t anticipating moments like this. Clearly, I should never tell Dad anything.
The clouds shift, and streaks of orange and purple dance upon the once-blue sky.
I clear my throat. “Looks like the sunset is in full force now.”
“Changing the subject,” Dad huffs. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” I glance at Dad, unable to hide my irritation and not caring.
“I’m your dad. I know you. I know when you’re uncomfortable.” Dad speaks matter-of-factly. “You think he’s hot.” Dad smiles, but then his face grows more serious. “But seriously, Alec, don’t do anything about it.”
“You’re forbidding me?”
Dad nods, and h
is massive watch gleams in the light of the setting sun. “I’m the father. Besides, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re after him for his money.”
I growl.
“I’m beginning to wish I didn’t tell Ezra to call you tomorrow,” Dad continues.
“You didn’t!” I try to glare at my dad, but when I turn my head to the road, all I can think about is being around so much hotness.
“Yes. I told him you have a deep interest in the ocean.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t even learn how to swim until two years ago.”
I shiver as I recall the embarrassment of moving to the big city and not knowing how to do it, taking a class for adults at the YMCA. Now I swim better than most people because I was taught professionally and not by a friend or parent telling me to kick my legs and move my arms.
“But you did learn, because you’re my boy.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Look just like me when I was younger,” Dad says.
“Uh-huh.” My smile tightens. It if weren’t for the fact I tend to spike my hair up and am more fond of black leather jackets than suits, we would look exceedingly similar.
“This will be a great year,” Dad says.
“You mean the rest of your life?” I ask.
“Right.” Dad winks at me. “The rest of my life with the amazing Angela.”
He smiles, and I focus my eyes on the road, on the bright red and yellow lights. Los Angeles. How the hell did I end up here?
“You can’t hurt someone again,” I say. “Angela is a good woman. She doesn’t deserve that. You could get in so much trouble. And you shouldn’t hurt anyone. It’s not decent. It’s not right.”
“Your mom was the best woman,” Dad says. “And she died.”
I’m silent after that. There’s nothing I can say, and I’m relieved when he finally pulls the car up to the townhouse.
Chapter Four
Ezra
I shut my bedroom door and collapse on the bed. Brad and Alec have left. God, no one gets along so well with Trixie. I sigh and pull the silky blanket over me. My body has been in a constant state of want and need and tension since seeing Alec. He’s so reserved, so different from the people I’m accustomed to seeing, and I tell myself that’s the reason why I want to stare at him and learn everything there is to know about him.
My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2) Page 3
