My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  “Is that—is that legal?” I’m grasping for any hope I can find, but the receptionist just smiles.

  “Sure is.”

  And that’s that. My mom will marry—perhaps is married already—to Brad. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  Alec and I are officially stepbrothers.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alec

  We were too late.

  The bright-colored balloon bops in the blue sky, and the softly playing jazz music continues its lively rhythm. Ezra’s shoulders droop down, and he swears.

  We failed to stop the wedding, and all I accomplished was making Ezra upset, even though that’s the one thing I didn’t want to do.

  I let out my breath in a long hiss and shift my legs over the too-dry grass, the yellow tips visible. There’s never enough water available in Nevada. “You want to wait for them?”

  Ezra shakes his head. “No point waiting for it to return.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice gruffer than I want it to be. “At least then they’ll never know we came after them.”

  We wind our way around the wedding venue, and the shadows of the elaborate columns provide little relief from the ever-hotter glare of the sun. Ezra slides into the driver’s seat, a frown pasted on his face. The drive to LA is too long, punctuated by an excited, happy phone call from Ezra’s mother, and an excited, smug one from my father. We are officially stepbrothers now.

  “Don’t worry. I’m moving out.” I should have done that long ago, found some way to separate myself from Dad. Hostels are scattered around the center of the city, and I can spend the remainder of my time at the internship there before I return for my final semester. I’ve gotten enough credits taking extra classes so I can graduate college early

  “Oh.” Ezra’s voice is small, nothing like the man whose singing can make a whole stadium of noisy fans quiet in awe.

  “We can’t continue,” I say, and Ezra presses his lips into a firm line. His eyes are fixed on the road, and his hand fumbles for the radio, switching it on so pop music fills the car, like he can’t even bear to speak to me.

  “I know,” he says finally over the sound of the music, and the response tears at my heart. I shut my eyes tight, as if I can shut the world away from me.

  No more sneaking into his room at night. No more talking together because talking can lead to other

  things that I once would have considered amazing but now would be just so bad for us.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” I say. “Maybe they’ll be happy together.”

  “Maybe,” he agrees, but his voice doesn’t sound very confident, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “The tour is going to start soon. I’m thinking about going to Chicago early. That’s where it begins.”

  “Oh.” My voice cracks, and I cough, as if that can cover up the emotion that wells through me. This is the end. Once we return to LA, we’ll separate, and this will all be a memory. A bad one for Ezra.

  “I’ll be back in November,” he continues, and his words cut through me.

  “I’ll be at school then.” I rub my hand through my hair. It’s too greasy, the sun has pounded against the windows of the car for too long in this heat, and my clothes stick to my skin.

  “I guess this is it, then,” he says, and I hate that he’s talking this way. He glances at me, and I can feel his eyes appraising me.

  My jaw stiffens, and my muscles are rigid, as if each piece of my body is separate.

  “There’s Christmas though,” he says, and I nod.

  “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you then.” We’ll be surrounded by our relatives then, but maybe that’s good. I crave him with all my being, and it’s impossible now. We’re stepbrothers. Relations. My chest hurts, and I’m glad I’m not driving.

  I pull on my shades, just like Ezra always does, and force myself to remain calm, to focus on breathing and not to think of all the tempting reasons to just start breaking apart.

  We avoid each other when we return to the empty home, and I pack my bag quickly, stuffing all my clothes back into my backpack and leaving all the fancy things behind me. I book a room at a hostel, using the money from my internship to pay for my cot in a room filled with five other guys.

  It’s the first night in a long time that we’ve sleep apart. It’s the first night, I realize, of the rest of my life.

  Ezra will remain a memory, one that will always haunt me as long as his face continues to be plastered on the side of buildings, his voice continues to sing in supermarkets, and he will continue to be invited to every family gathering. Even at the hostel, I can hear his voice streaming through the reception area, and when I walk on the street, I see little girls wearing shirts with his face plastered on them.

  I’ll never be able to get away from him—I’ll always be haunted. The newspaper and Internet won’t be peaceful refuges from him. Nothing can be. Seeing him on the television, hearing his voice, that torture will be enhanced by seeing him in person.

  Because he’s my goddamned brother now. Until my father leaves Angela, and I’ll know I’ve torn his family apart, waiting too long to tell him the truth.

  I throw myself into my internship, working extended hours often, counting the days until I go back to Kentucky. Ezra is already in Chicago. The television in the hostel seems constantly set to the entertainment network. His face still smiles, he still dances in a carefree fashion, and I don’t know if I’ve imagined all the wonderful time we’ve had together or not.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Alec

  I thought it would be more of a relief to return to Kentucky. The bus trip back was a long, excruciating blur of wide highways, the landscape shifting from grass amid long patches of brown, to outright desert, to rolling green hills covered with thick forests.

  I am home.

  But I’ve never felt more far away. My home was with Ezra, but I can never go back to that again. I’m surprised at how much I allowed myself to hope we might have a future, how much I failed to steel myself for not having him in my life anymore.

  College continues to go well. I spend most of my time in the library, and most of the other hard-core frequenters have grown accustomed to seeing me at one of the many carrels, though I received a few strange looks to begin with. My studded leather jacket, my brawny form and my tattoo makes me seem out of place among the wiry men and women, and their faces pale. Now they accept me as one of their own, and I am grateful for that.

  There’s no party I want to attend, and even my room is treacherous territory. My mind strays to Ezra with too much frequency, and I find safety only in my textbooks, calling me to solve abstract problems.

  I haven’t seen Dad since before the wedding. I stayed at the hostel, and he called to tell me he was going on his honeymoon—an extended trip across the Mediterranean, a chance for Dad to connect with the Italian heritage I know Dad doesn’t possess.

  In November, Dad calls me again. I haven’t heard from him in months, and curiosity drives me to pick up the phone.

  “How do you fancy Christmas in the Bahamas?” Dad’s cheerful voice comes through the line.

  “Excuse me?” I swallow hard, but my throat is dry. The uneasy feeling that’s filled me since Dad first introduced me to Angela and Ezra grows stronger, and I slide onto my bed.

  “You love swimming now, right?” I can hear Dad’s voice smiling through the phone. It’s deep, and his Southern accent deepens. For a moment, I can hear Dad singing as he plays the banjo around the campfire. “I think you’ll love the Bahamas.”

  I squirm in my bed. “Are—are Ezra and Angela going?”

  Dad chuckles. “I always thought you liked Ezra just a bit too much.”

  “And I always thought you liked Angela just a bit too little.”

  Dad is silent on the other side of the line, and I can hear him take in his breath quickly. I don’t take the words back, and I wait for Dad to say something.

  Dad clears his throat. “Angela and I broke up.”<
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  My stomach contracts, and Dad’s careless words seem to tug at my insides, as if anchoring my abdomen with a heavy weight.

  “Too bad, really,” he continues.

  My jaw clenches, and a jolt of tension surges through my body, like the electricity I study. “You can’t break up when you’re already married.”

  “No.” Dad sighs. “It’s called a divorce now.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as dismay and disappointment travel through me. “What happened? Why did you leave her?”

  “Young man!” Dad’s affronted voice crackles through the line, and I hold the cell phone away. “I didn’t leave anyone, I’ll have you know. Just went on vacation, and maybe she didn’t like the person I went with. But she wasn’t a very good wife after all. Too suspicious. And wouldn’t even trust me to merge our bank accounts together!”

  I smile. Go Ezra.

  “So you’re not going to be wealthy from her?”

  “I’m not doing too bad, son. Got myself a new girlfriend. Maybe I’ll make an honest woman of her. I’m thinking about it. Maybe we can have one of those cruise ship weddings.”

  I sigh. “Who is it, Dad?”

  “Oh, you met her. It’s Celia. Celia Vardon.”

  I blink. “You’re going out with a top supermodel? Aren’t you a bit older than her?

  I knew I hadn’t imagine the way he acted with her.

  Dad chuckles. “Luckily, I’m still handsome, and she thinks I’m loaded.”

  “Well, I guess she has so much money she won’t notice you don’t.” My words are sarcastic, but Dad feigns oblivion.

  He chuckles. “Exactly.”

  I suck in a breath of air, though it does nothing to calm my churning stomach and quickening heartbeat. “Dad, I can’t believe you hurt Angela like this.”

  “Hurt?” His voice sounds shocked. “She left me.”

  “You cheated on her!” I rise my torso up on my bed, and adrenaline rushes through me. My hands clench, as if I’m at the gym, pounding against my punching bag. “You can’t treat women like this.” My breath falters, but I continue on. I need to say this. “What if somebody had treated Mom like you treat—”

  “Gotta go, Alec,” Dad interrupts me, his voice rushed. “She’s calling me now. Think about the Bahamas.”

  The phone clicks off. I know he heard me. Good.

  Maybe things will always be complicated with Dad. Maybe things will actually work out between him and Celia. And if not—maybe things not working will make him more cautious when dealing with other people’s hearts.

  I hope Angela will be okay. And Ezra . . . I sigh. I settle back onto the bed and try to ignore imagining what Ezra would be saying if he were right here with me. He’s not here, and he’ll never be here.

  We won’t see each other again, not with our parents divorcing. Not with me living all the way in the middle of the country. No way.

  My body is numb. It’s all over.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ezra

  When I stand onstage, singing about love, I’m really singing about Alec. Unlike the joyous lyrics I burst out, there’s nothing delightful about it.

  Sometimes I catch myself pondering his smile, his focus on improving himself and creating this amazing engineering career, reading books I can’t even attempt to understand. Other times I consider how we first became close, and still other times I close my eyes and recollect the sex we had, and how completely awesome it was.

  But then I remember we can’t ever be together, and it doesn’t matter if I’ve found the most perfect man in the world for me.

  I snap the cap off a bottle of beer and swallow down some of the bubbly liquid. Squealing college girls fill the after party, throwing themselves over Kyle and Giovante. Luca is too wrapped up in his new girlfriend, Debbie. My limbs ache from dancing, the soreness each night not alleviated by our busy schedule, which has us sleeping on our tour bus more often than not lately, and my throat is hoarse from singing. We’ve been hitting the Midwest in force, starting in Chicago with a bang and then winding around the large, flat states with force.

  Something about our clean-cut image has always appealed to the folks in Ohio and Minnesota. I wish we could go on a world tour, and I’m glad the new manager is planning one. I want distraction from Alec, different cities, different landscapes, something different so that every time I close my eyes, I don’t see him before me.

  “Hey.” Mateo claps my shoulder. “How’s it going, amigo?”

  I shrug. It never goes well. It hasn’t gone well for a long time. I smile brightly at him anyway though. “Awesome.”

  Mateo appraises me. “You’re not as good of an actor as you think you are.”

  “Hasn’t stopped them from having a great time.” I flicker my eyes to the college girls. One of them has a Southern accent, and my heart has been lurching ever since I first heard it. It’s absurd because her high-pitched voice sounds nothing like Alec’s. But right now she’s the closest thing to him.

  “You have to get over him,” Mateo says.

  “I—” I scrunch my eyebrows at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mateo sighs. “You’re not that good of an actor, remember? It’s obvious you’re hurting.”

  Caleb appears behind Mateo and slides his arm around Mateo’s waist. They kiss lightly on the lips, and the gesture sends an ache through my heart.

  I don’t quite hide my shudder, and Caleb steps away from Mateo. He shifts his eyes around, and the look of unhappiness doesn’t escape me this time.

  I hate myself. He thinks I don’t accept him. And I’m keeping a secret from him.

  I inhale and turn to Mateo. “Maybe we can find a quiet place now? For us to talk?”

  Mateo studies me for a moment and then smiles and ushers us toward another, quieter room.

  Caleb follows Mateo and me inside, his steps more uncertain than I would like.

  I swing around to him and suck in a breath of air, wrinkling my nose at the smoky scent. Parties. My chest hollows, and I fight back a surge of longing for my home in LA and lazy nights hanging out with Alec. I scrunch my lips and focus on Caleb.

  “Dude—” I pause, and my gaze flickers to Mateo. “I owe you an apology.”

  “No.” Caleb shakes his head. “Maybe I should tone down my interaction with Mateo, I just—”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” I scowl back at him, jutting my chin out. “You love him. That’s great.”

  “But if it makes you unhappy—”

  I inhale sharply. “I’m gay.”

  “What?” Caleb’s eyes round. “You can’t be. You never said—”

  He stops, probably remembering his past behavior. “Why did you never say anything? If not before, then—”

  “I thought it was just a stage,” I say miserably. “I thought everything would go away.”

  “But it didn’t,” he says.

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the sick feeling curdling in my stomach. I wrap my arms against my chest. “No.”

  Caleb nods solemnly. “Things will improve. You’ll see.”

  I smile tightly back at him. I draw my legs toward myself, imagining him rethinking all our past interactions.

  “And now you want to date someone?” Caleb scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sure lots of men would be—”

  “No.”

  “You’re planning on staying in the closet? Coming out really is totally worth it. At least it was for me.” Caleb gazes at Mateo, and their hands brush against each other. I have the sensation that they communicate without speaking.

  “It’s not that.” I sigh.

  “Ezra’s in love.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Is it true?” Caleb’s mouth parts, and he swivels his head from me to Mateo.

  “Of course.” Mateo pulls Caleb into his arms.

  “I wouldn’t say it that way,” I say.

  But my heart beats faster, and my mouth dries. The party rages on from
the other room, but my mind concentrates only on Mateo’s words. In love. With Alec. Me. I rub my hand through my hair, my strands sticky from dancing onstage, smelling too much of smoke, a remnant of past parties in this room and the more adventurous college girls who swarm around outside.

  I’ve barely slept in the past months, and my mind seems to consist only of reliving all the great moments with Alec and then mourning him all over again when I remember he’s gone and never coming back. My chest has a constant ache, and I frequent his social media pages too often, staring at old photos of him. He hasn’t put any new photographs up, and we don’t have any photos of the two of us together.

  Oh, dear God, Mateo is completely correct.

  I’m in love.

  Of course I’m in love.

  My eyes squeeze shut, and my fists tighten so my fingernails dig into my skin. My legs wobble, like I’m one of those Victorian women in those miniseries Mom loves watching.

  “You’re white!” Caleb’s eyes widen. “Sit down, Ezra.”

  I allow him to lead me to a rickety stool. I want to be back in my hotel room, but there’s no way I’m making my way through the crowded party now.

  “Maybe this was a mistake.” Mateo draws his lips together.

  “No, no,” I say. “I should—I should be able to speak about this. You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

  “You’re in love?” Caleb leans forward. “You’re so busy, mate. How did you manage that?” He smiles at me, but then his gaze falls to the no doubt miserable expression on my face. He sighs. “Is he straight? In a relationship?”

  “Worse.” My shoulders slump, and the pit in my stomach hollows. “He’s—”

  I flick my eyes up to Caleb and fight the heat that rises to my neck and spreads to my cheeks. “He’s my stepbrother. Ex-stepbrother-to-be now.” I suck in a deep breath of air and smile wryly at him. “Not that it matters. We still got together when we were living in the same house. And now our parents aren’t even speaking to each other. And he lives in Kentucky anyway. Which is nowhere near LA.”