by Skye Jordan
Brook’s brows rose. “Really?”
Giselle nodded. The thought of randomly tweeting her location and having fans in the area show up for an impromptu, private, intimate mini-concert usually thrilled the hell out of her. It kept her grounded, kept her in touch, kept her real, kept her heart open, and reminded her of why she did this. Right now, she needed that reminder. Of why she’d walked away from Troy.
Right now, it kept her treading water.
“That is a great idea,” Brook said. “Tell me when, and I’ll put together the where and grab a couple of the hotel security guys.”
“It’s noon, and rehearsal starts at four. How about one thirty? I’ll stay half an hour.”
“Done. Who are the proceeds going to? Treehouse or Casa?”
“Didn’t we donate to Casa last time?”
“Pretty sure we did.”
“Then Treehouse.”
“Are you singing, or are you letting your fans sing?”
“I can sing today. I just don’t like singing after a concert.”
“Oooo.” Brook clapped and picked up her phone, tapping into some app. “Your fans are going to be sooooo excited!”
Giselle smiled, and a little spark lit up inside her. A spark she really needed right now.
Brook set her phone down, and that weird silence filtered between them again.
“Have you talked to Chad about this?” Brook asked. When Giselle frowned across the table at her, Brook added, “About Troy.”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Because you need to talk to someone about it and you’re not talking to me—which is totally fine,” she added quickly. “I don’t expect you to talk to me about everything, I’m good with that. I respect that. I’m just really worried at the way you keep everything inside. Especially this. And to do what you do, to live up to the demands and expectations placed on you day in and day out, you need to be balanced. Your mind needs to be free and have room to move. Keeping this locked inside you isn’t allowing for that and, honestly…you’re scaring me.”
“Brook, that’s… I’m…” She exhaled. “Okay, look. I’m…different. We’ve known that from the beginning. I process things differently. I relate to people differently. You’ve seen me grow and change over the years. I’ve opened up, become more confident, which has allowed me to be more extroverted.
“Meeting up with Troy again has just, I don’t know, sort of pushed me backward a little. I’ve started acting and reacting in some of the unhealthy ways I used to—like trying to handle everything myself, shutting people out, making rash decisions. It’s—it’s just my way of protecting myself.”
Brook’s hand reached across the table and covered Giselle’s. “I hope you know you never have to protect yourself from me. I love you unconditionally. And I’ve always got your back.”
This was the kind of closeness that rattled Giselle to the core. It felt awkward and uncomfortable. And it terrified her. This was the kind of closeness that could tear her heart out if—when—it was lost. Yet there was nothing she wanted more. It was the kind of closeness she craved. And the conflict created a constant inner battle.
But she didn’t expect Brook to understand those twisted emotions—ones rooted in a traumatic childhood and a young life filled with repeated loss. So she smiled, turned her hand over, and squeezed Brook’s. “I know. I love you too. I’m sorry I make you worry.”
God, she was so messed up. So freaking broken. Even all these years and all her success later, she was still one crayon short of a full box. She still felt unworthy—of friends, of success, of love.
Brook eased back in her seat and picked at her fruit with a little grin tilting her mouth. “Did I already mention how totally, completely, raging hawt he is?” She fanned herself with her hand and rolled her eyes. “Like Vegas-in-August-during-a-record-heat-wave hawt.”
Giselle cut her a glare. “About two dozen times in three days.”
“Huh. So I have.” She frowned at her fruit. “Have you talked to Nathan?”
“He’s still in Syria,” Giselle said. “And I wouldn’t talk to him about this anyway. He never liked the idea of Troy and me together.”
“The little-sister complex?”
“I guess. I never looked at either of them as brothers. We were friends. Equals. Three people with similar life experiences struggling to make it day to day together. My feelings for Nathan were always platonic. My feelings for Troy were never platonic. But Nathan’s a leader and protector at heart.”
They fell silent a moment, both of them playing with their food more than eating it. Giselle had never told Brook the story behind her relationship with Troy, though pieces had come out over the years when they’d talked about Nathan, about their pasts. Now, she felt the need to put it into perspective.
“The foster father where we lived was an alcoholic. A mean drunk, you know? But his wife, she was even meaner. So when he got sauced, he took out his anger with the world on the kids, because he was that big a coward. I was fourteen when I got there—it was my third home—and I was the only girl. Nathan and Troy were seventeen, and sort of took me under their wing.
“At first, I was wary, thought it was a ruse to get close to me and manipulate me. That wasn’t my first time around that block. But I saw how they created a buffer between the father and me. There were times…” Her voice broke, and emotions rushed in. She paused and swallowed, forcing the memories back. Brook reached across the table and covered her hand again. “They took beatings that were meant for me. Beatings that I know in my heart would have ended in rape. Beatings that would eventually have killed me.”
She took a slow, measured breath, fighting to hold the flood back. But she couldn’t stand the contact any longer, and pulled her hand from Brook’s. Sitting back, she crossed her arms.
“When they turned eighteen they got kicked out of the system. They had to leave. I had to stay. They’d done a pretty good job of teaching me how to take care of myself, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being without them. They were my family and my best friends all rolled into one. We were each other’s lifelines, you know?”
Brook’s expression had darkened, but she nodded.
“I kept running away to their apartment, where I stayed until my foster parents sent the cops to haul me home. Finally, they just stopped coming. I dropped out of high school, and we all worked two jobs to make ends meet. But the guys made me study for my GED at night. Nathan bought this piece-of-shit car off a friend, and he and Troy would drive me to bars every weekend so I could sing. They hung out to keep guys from hitting on me, make sure the equipment was set up right, and bring me water when my throat was raw.
“Then Nathan got into the army, and after he left, everything changed. When the three of us were together, we were the three musketeers. But once Nathan left, and it was just me and Troy…” She shook her head. “Looking back, I think I fell in love with him the first time he stepped between me and my foster father. I hid it because I didn’t want anything to change. I never had those feelings for Nathan, but Troy… God, he was all I thought about. All I wanted. And when I discovered he felt the same about me, man…”
Her heart ached with the memories. Such sweet, powerful memories. “Back then, everything was a struggle—food, rent, gas. But he always found a way to get me to every gig. Always made the time to stay with me. He gave me inspiration for my songs, let me cry on his shoulder, supported my every attempt to live my dream.” A smile tugged at her mouth and joy filled her heart. “He loved me. Loved me like I’ve never been loved.
“And it wasn’t like he didn’t have other girls interested. He’d had girlfriends before me. Had plenty of girls calling and coming to see him while we were together, but he told them straight up, ‘We can be friends, but I love Ellie.’ He was so confident with himself that way. Never needed to play games to feel secure the way so many of our friends did.
“I can’t explain how intense our connection was. It’s one o
f those things you can’t understand unless you’ve been through the hell of abusive parents and violent foster care. But we were more than friends. More than lovers. We were…like…part of each other. Maybe we were so in love because we were young and reckless and stupid and broken. But I’ve never known love like that again—before or after.”
She wiped her face on her sleeve, suddenly exhausted. She’d never given out so much information in such a short amount of time, and it drained her.
“And I guess I know the rest of the story from there,” Brook said, voice sad.
Giselle laughed, but it was a painful sound. Theirs was a story of heartbreak shared by hundreds of others in this business where success tore people apart.
“So typical, right?” Giselle had spent many nights in those early months on the road crying on Brook’s shoulder. “God, I hate clichés.”
Brook sighed heavily and rested her chin on her hand. “Clichés exist for a reason, honey. It means you aren’t the only couple that struggled with jealousy, the demands of the industry, and the influx of new and exciting people into your lives.”
Maybe not, but that didn’t make the memories any less awful. Or the breakup any less painful. She looked down at her plate and shook her head, still not sure what to do or how to handle this. “What a mess.”
“I know more happened between you two than a chance meeting at the mixer,” Brook said, “otherwise you wouldn’t be this upset. And I don’t need to know what that was. I just want you to remember that you’re not the only one who acts a certain way to protect yourself. Troy’s going to have the same kind of buffers in place. I’m not saying whatever he might have done or not done was warranted or okay. I’m just saying that if anyone would understand him, I mean really, honestly understand him, it would be you. But to do that, you’re going to have to put your own hurt aside.”
She dropped her head into her hand and massaged her forehead. “He’s a grown adult. I’m taking responsibility for my flaws. He needs to take responsibility for his.”
“True enough.” Brook put up both hands in surrender. “I just thought it might help you wrap you mind around this and put it behind you.”
Giselle’s cell rang with Chad’s ring tone. She and Brook groaned in unison.
“Has he left you alone for a minute in the last two weeks?” Brook asked, frustrated.
“He’s just doing his job.”
“No, doing his job would include telling you about that L’Oréal offer.”
“I can only handle one difficult man at a time. And I think Troy counts as five,” Giselle answered with as much ease as she could drag up. “Hey.”
“Hey, sweetie. Can we talk a few minutes?”
“Sure. Be right there.” She disconnected before Chat had time to ramble on about things he was going to tell her once she got to his room anyway, and pushed from the table. “The master has summoned.”
“Whatever.” Brook covered the food with the foil it had come in, her grumpy face on. “Don’t forget about your Twitter drop at one thirty. I already posted it, so you can’t back out. I’ll lay out your clothes and be here at one to do your hair and makeup and make sure you’ve eaten more of this before we leave.”
Giselle smiled, picked up room keys off a side table, then turned to hug Brook. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Brook pulled back and smiled. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”
Giselle was feeling a little lighter as she wandered to the next suite and used the extra key to enter.
“Hey,” she called, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “What’s—oh.”
She stopped short at the sight of a second man in the room, sitting with Chad on the sofa—Jeff Michel.
Shit.
“I’m sorry.” Her gaze jumped to Chad, and she wondered how much the director had told him. “I thought you wanted to talk now. I’ll just come back—”
“No, no. I do want to talk to you now, but I would have told you to jump into something pretty if you hadn’t hung up on me.” He gestured to the director sitting beside him. He was in his fifties, wearing a tweed blazer over jeans and cowboy boots. “You remember Jeff Michel.”
Suddenly self-conscious in her sweats, her hair up in a knot, no makeup on, she crossed her arms but approached him with a smile and held out her hand. “Of course. I’m so sorry about my appearance—”
“Not at all. My daughter lives in nothing but sweats.”
He stood and shook her hand, his smile wide, his manner easy. That should have relaxed her, but it didn’t. She felt like a gazelle waiting for a lion to leap out of the tall grass.
“Sophie, right?” Giselle grinned and slipped on her professional veneer. One she used so often, it fit like a calfskin glove. “I think I signed a picture for her.”
“Right, and she loved it, thank you. I think my ears are still popping from the squeal she let out when I gave it to her.”
Giselle laughed. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen going on twenty-eight.”
“Have a seat, Giselle,” Chad said. “Jeff’s brought us a very interesting offer.”
“An offer. That’s a surprise.” She perked up as her mind started connecting dots. Offer plus movie director could equal the possibility of writing music for another film. Or, even better, writing and singing music for an animated production. As a girl, she’d fallen asleep every night for years fantasizing she was Ariel, Snow White, or Cinderella, and as she’d gotten older, dreamed of singing for a Disney or Pixar film.
She took a chair across from the sofa and curled her bare feet underneath her.
“Go ahead, Jeff,” Chad said. “I think you’ll explain the project better than I can.”
He nodded, then focused on Giselle, growing intent and serious. “It seems we have a relationship—or two—in common.”
Oh shit.
Her balloon of excitement popped, and she physically fought to keep her smile on.
“I’ve been good friends with Matt Sullivan for years. We worked on countless projects together before he bailed on movie production and started working on music videos. We had lunch yesterday, and I mentioned the mixer where I met you. He told me he was producing your music video and couldn’t stop talking about how professional and talented you are in front of a camera.”
The bubbles in her mind holding Arial, Snow White, and Cinderella popped, one by one.
“That’s great to hear.” Giselle kept a smile on her face, but her shoulders tightened with every new connection within this very small world of entertainment.
“And it got me thinking about the other relationship we have in common—Troy Jacobs.”
Oh my God.
Alarm tingled through her belly.
Kill me now.
Giselle couldn’t keep her smile from slipping a little.
Chad’s head swung toward Giselle, his brows pulled together in a frown. “Who’s Troy?”
That familiar metal band was back, cinching Giselle’s chest tight. But she met Chad’s eyes and said, “An old friend.”
“He’s also one of our top stuntmen,” Jeff said. “Amazingly talented. Does the rigging for all the blockbuster action films in Hollywood. Works with a company called Renegades out of Los Angeles.”
Stuntman. Troy was a Renegade.
That surprised Giselle more than if he’d been an actor. In his youth, Troy had been teased over his lack of coordination and skinny build. He’d never been particularly athletic, and sports had bored him.
“That’s really beside the point,” Jeff went on. “The point is that when I saw you with him the other night at the mixer, I realized what was missing in this film: passion. We’ve got the big stars, the big stunts, the big budget, but no passion.”
The band ratcheted tighter. Chad was frowning now. The vertical line between his brows indicated how hard he was trying to figure out how this all connected. And, man, she really didn’t want to r
ehash her history with Troy again.
“I’m not sure how I can help,” she managed, pushing the conversation along, wishing it would end. Wishing it hadn’t ever started.
Jeff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and focused on Giselle with such intensity, she felt his magnetic pull. “I want to offer you a cameo in the film, Giselle. Just a small part, a few small scenes, really, as the love interest for our villain, Alec Guzman. I want the passion I saw between you and Troy in the movie on the screen. Matt and I actually came up with the idea together. He thinks a sexy part in a motion picture of this caliber would be right in line with your goals and give you a nice boost toward that jump you’re trying to make in your career.”
She darted a look toward Chad and found him already looking at her, still trying to unpuzzle this Troy situation, she was sure.
“You’ve really got the fresh country-star persona dialed in, and I would never have considered you for a sexy part like this unless I’d seen you on that music video at the mixer. But the camera loves you, Giselle, and you look absolutely at ease with your sexuality on film. It’s beautiful and sensual. Add that passion between you and Troy, and bam”—he smacked his hands together, making Giselle jump—“we’ve not only got a blockbuster, we’ve got something really, really special. It’s a win-win, in my eyes. What do you think?”
“I…” God, she didn’t know what to think. “I’m not an actor. I don’t know—”
“You don’t have to be. If you need coaching, we can give you a little on the set. I talked to the producer about adding you in the background singing in one of the other major scenes. That would enable more of your work to appear on the movie soundtrack.”
This was huge—her music on a major motion picture soundtrack? Personal exposure in a blockbuster film? There really was no better way to show her updated persona to the world. Of course, there was a love scene to think about. And working on the same film as Troy…
“Wow,” she said, her heart squeezing. “What an amazing opportunity.”
