by Jayne Frost
Logan lobbed his empty bottle at Cameron’s head, and when my brother threatened to respond by dousing his friend with Dr. Pepper, I didn’t even flinch. I was too busy thinking about what wooing Taryn entailed.
Ambling to the kitchen, I opened the fridge. My hand hovered over the water, but the beer beckoned, so I grabbed a bottle. Loitering near the island, I took a long sip and then asked Logan, “Have you talked to Taryn?”
Invited her out for a date? Dinner and a night of sweaty sex?
Who was I kidding? This was Logan. Dinner was a stretch.
He shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet.”
Since I was only half listening when Logan told me about the concert, I scratched my head. “Where exactly is the show taking place?”
“Zilker Park, if you believe the rumor mill. So it won’t be any time in the next few months. Not with Austin City Limits in September.”
Months …
If I planned it right, I could scratch the itch with Taryn and be nothing but a memory in “months.” It’s not like I ever got involved with the band’s management. Cameron understood my reasons for never mixing with the music industry folks. The pain it caused. And the risks.
Christian walked into the room, Sean a step behind. With a smile, I grabbed a Starburst from the table and wandered over to Willow, curled in her daddy’s arms. Pressing the candy into her tiny hand, I earned a giggle from the little princess and a glare from her father.
My brother hopped to his feet and stretched. “Want to go jam with us?”
I patted Cameron on the back on my way to the couch. “You go ahead. I wouldn’t want to show you up.”
The guys crowed, but Cam merely shrugged, an easygoing smile tilting his lips.
Grabbing my laptop, I waited until I heard the faint footsteps two levels above before opening the lid. I chided myself for my itchy fingers as I clicked on another photo of Taryn.
Sad blue eyes filled the screen. And those lips, struggling to maintain a fake smile. A lyric popped into my head, so I paused to jot it down.
You wear the summer in soft blue eyes. A bittersweet sky, tainted with lies. Let me end your season of pain. Dry the tears that fall like rain.
Satisfied with the sappy sentiment, I closed my browser.
Taryn would be here in three hours. Anxiety and excitement warred at the prospect of seeing her. I sucked down the rest of the beer and forced myself to answer some emails.
Chapter 5
Taryn
A little before four o’clock, I stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the Driscoll Hotel. Tugging at my pencil skirt, I made the trek down the long hallway, cursing the sky-high Louboutins pinching my toes.
On the off chance that Ash invited a staff photographer to memorialize our meeting, I wanted to look professional. Which was a joke, really, since I’d negotiated some of the most lucrative deals in the music industry wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Arriving at the double doors, I tucked an unruly strand of hair behind my ear and then rang the bell.
Ash greeted me with his usual lopsided grin. “Thanks for coming, Taryn.”
Despite what he’d done, I fought the urge to return the smile. Ash wore the same sadness in his eyes that I saw when I looked in the mirror. And I knew it was because of Paige.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, brushing past him. “I’ve got to get back to the office.”
I hadn’t told Tori where I was going. With the press camped out like vultures at Twin Souls, she had enough on her plate.
Pausing in the living room, I looked around. A single Tiffany lamp in the corner provided sparse light, and the drapes were secured tightly over the windows.
Whirling around, I glared at Ash. “Are you trying to set a mood? We’re not on a date.”
“Stand down, T-Rex,” came a gruff voice from the shadows. “The suite was my idea.”
My heart stuttered as I turned to the sound.
“Dylan … ?” In answer to my question, the table lamp next to the couch flicked on, and Dylan’s gray eyes found mine. “What are you doing here?”
My voice was small. Reed-thin. Because I didn’t want to know what Beckett’s bandmate was doing in a room with a reporter from the Statesman. All signs pointed to one thing: damage control.
“Come here,” Dylan said.
My feet obeyed the command without question. Because it was Dylan. We’d known each other since my first day of junior high when he’d followed Beckett and Rhenn to our table in the lunchroom. That was Dylan’s way. Not exactly shy, but unobtrusive. Even after Rhenn died, leaving Dylan to step up and lead the band I’d positioned to take the spot Damaged left behind, he’d never truly embraced the fame. He’d hung back, like always, allowing Beckett to claim the lion’s share of the spotlight.
When I made it to the couch, the lump in my throat doubled in size. Shadows occupied the space under Dylan’s eyes, and worry lines bracketed his mouth.
He pushed to his feet, and then strong arms banded around me. “Jesus, it’s good to see you.”
Nodding against his chest, I mumbled, “Does Tori know you’re here?”
“Not yet.” With a final squeeze he pulled away and, taking my hand, he dropped onto the cushions. “Sit down. I need your help with something.”
Recalling the last time Dylan had asked for my help, I froze. And then I was back there, in that room inside the funeral home with all the empty caskets, holding Dylan’s hand with numb fingers.
“I’m thinking the black for Rhenn.” Dylan had turned to me then, tears spilling onto his cheeks. “But I need your help picking one out for Paige.”
The memory slipped back into that shadowy place, and I did as Dylan asked, easing onto the cushion next to him.
Dylan blew out a breath and then said to Ash, “Go ahead.”
With a grim nod, the reporter walked to the flat screen and inserted a thumb drive. After handing Dylan the remote, he sank into a wing chair and clasped his hands, his gaze fixed on the floor.
I wanted to run, but when I tried to do just that, Dylan’s palm came down just above my knee.
“It’s okay,” he said, sounding anything but sure. “Just watch.”
Grainy footage flickered to life on the screen, and a throaty female voice boomed from the speaker.
“Yes … baby … fuck me.”
When the girl’s face came into view, my mouth went dry. Harper Rush, the singer I’d scouted in Biloxi three months ago. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she bounced up and down, and I almost believed she didn’t know she was being taped. But then she looked straight into the camera and smiled.
So far, I’d avoided looking at her partner. The face wasn’t visible. But the thick, wavy brown hair on the pillow was familiar.
My heart slammed against my ribs, knocking the wind out of me.
Beckett and Harper? On tape?
This isn’t happening.
Jerking my gaze to Dylan, I pleaded, “Turn it off! Please … Dylan … turn it off!”
Gaze locked on the screen and an iron grip on my leg, he shook his head.
And then Harper’s companion spoke. “I’ll fuck you all right. Turn over.”
My head whipped to the screen in time to see the couple reverse positions. And it was Dylan’s gray eyes shining in the low-resolution light. Muttering a string of curses, he pounded into Harper, twisting a hand into her hair. The camera got a nice shot of her face when he yanked the long strands, and her head snapped up. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, Dylan squeezed his eyes shut and tipped forward, releasing Tori’s name on a groan.
Dylan hit a button, and the image froze. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on the screen.
“There’s more,” he finally said. “But you get the gist of it.”
Questions filled my head, but I didn’t know where to start. As bad as the sex tape was, it could be weathered. Dylan was single, and a rock star. But a tape of
him whispering the name of his dead best friend’s wife? That bell could never be un-rung.
“Were you two … you and Harper,” my voice cracked, and I cleared my throat, “involved? I mean … the tape, did y’all … ?”
“I was drunk,” Dylan roughed out. “I only slept with her once, and I didn’t know she was taping it. I didn’t … I didn’t know what I was saying.”
He let out a staggered breath and then hung his head, likely to hide his eyes. But there was no need. Dylan’s unrequited love for Tori was the worst kept secret in our group. Everyone knew it. Even Rhenn.
Rubbing my arms to ward off the chill that came out of nowhere, I turned to Ash, confused. “Where do you fit in?”
He cocked his head, regarding me with wounded eyes. “Harper contacted me, and I met with her. She showed me the footage. And then I called Dylan.”
“Who else has seen this?” I asked, a sudden panic rising in my throat. “Who else besides—”
“Just us,” Dylan replied. “Harper wants momentum for her new album. So she thought she’d get the tape out there. But after Ash told me, I threatened her—”
“You what?” I screeched, hopping to my feet.
“Legally,” Dylan growled. “I’m not that fucking stupid. I told her … I offered … fuck …”
He tipped forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and then buried his head in his hands. Reclaiming my seat, I rubbed small circles on his back. “What did you offer?”
“I said that you’d manage her. That you’d do for her what you did for us. She agreed to turn over the tape if she gets a contract with Twin Souls and her album takes off.”
Stunned, my hand fell to my side. “Dylan … it’s not … it’s not that easy.”
With all the moving parts, the chances of pulling this off without someone finding out were pretty slim. If the label got a hold of the tape, they’d release it for the publicity alone.
“Are you sure she hasn’t shown it to anyone else?” I asked. “Someone at the label?”
Dylan shook his head. “No, I convinced her that Metro wouldn’t release the album if she put the tape out.”
“It’s only a matter of time, though,” Ash chimed in. “Harper’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. But she knew what she was doing, coming to me. She expected me to release the tape. And I told her I would.”
Incredulous, my mouth dropped open. “You what? How could you?”
Ash fixed me with a glare. “Did you want her to go to somebody else? I told Harper I had something more salacious in the pipe. Then I threw together that bullshit story with Maddy and all the stuff about the reunion show. I was only trying to buy us some time.”
Sitting back, I absorbed the magnitude of what Ash said. It made sense. Any story about Beckett and me would draw the public’s attention long enough to do whatever needed to be done with Harper Rush.
As if he could read my thoughts, Ash said, “There was no time to get your input. I finished writing the story two hours before it went to print, after we agreed that there wasn’t another play.”
We?
“Who’s we?” I asked thickly.
Dylan released a slow, controlled breath. “I told Beckett about the tape after Ash interviewed Maddy. He didn’t know beforehand. But then he agreed that it was the best way.”
While I sat reeling at the thought of my best friends tossing me to the wolves, Ash plucked a folder from his briefcase. “Beckett had a couple of conditions, though.”
With a shaky hand, I took the file, spilling part of its contents onto the floor. When I reached down and picked up a handful of photos, my heart squeezed. Melting into the cushions, I sifted through the pictures of Beckett and me from the Sadie Hawkins Dance in the eighth grade. And the ones from the trailer that Beckett and I had moved into when I was seventeen. Tears stung my eyes when I came across an image of us in front of the Welcome to Las Vegas sign.
Clutching the long-forgotten memories, I opened the file and glanced over the neatly typed notes.
Taryn is my heart.
Infinity and beyond.
My one true love.
Phrases jumped from the page, each one clawing at the door to my soul I’d closed on Beckett. I kept reading, even after the lines blurred together.
Shoving the past back into the folder, I turned to Ash. “What is this?”
“It’s the rebuttal Beckett insisted on for Maddy’s interview. Look it over so I can get your response. He wants it out there as soon as possible.”
My response? I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over the file. Sweet words and pretty lies about a future we’d never have, and a painful past I wanted to forget. “One thing at a time, Ash. Let me concentrate on setting up a meeting with Harper first.”
Dylan shoved to his feet, visibly relaxed. I guess transferring the burden to my shoulders lightened his load.
As if he’d just noticed my outfit, he smirked. “Guess we’re gonna have to pick someplace fancier than a barbecue joint for dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah, I figured I’d go by the office and surprise Tori. You know she’s going to want to do dinner.” He ambled to the mirror, combing a hand through his long hair. “We should rent out a back room somewhere and get everyone together. You can arrange that, right, T-Rex? Who all’s in town?”
I blinked at Dylan. It was one thing to assume that Tori had no plans. She spent her free time with me and her memories. But I wasn’t her.
Dylan spun around when I didn’t reply. “T-Rex?”
“Oh … um … let me think.” I rattled off the schedules for all twelve members of the Big Three. Because, of course, I knew them. When I was finished, I grabbed my purse and pushed to my feet. “Let me know where y’all want to go, and I’ll make the reservation. But I’ll have to pass.”
Dylan slung his arm around me and brushed a kiss to the top of my head. “You can take a night off. You’re the boss, remember?”
I peered up at him and forced a smile. “It’s not work. I’ve got a date.”
Chapter 6
Chase
Eyeing the crowd at the door of the bar, I placed five beers on the tray for Megan, the waitress working the floor.
Garnishing the Corona’s with limes, she mused, “I can’t believe it’s so busy. It’s only seven, and I haven’t even had time to take a pee.”
Bridgette, my bar manager, looked up from her paperwork and said, “Are you complaining, Megs? You’re working the prime station tonight. But if it’s too much, Lainey can pick up some slack.”
Megan’s cheeks flushed pink. “No, of course not. I’m just not used to being this busy when Chase isn’t playing a set.”
She smiled at me, her liquid brown gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. Sure, I was the boss, but in this industry, that didn’t preclude a little after-hours fun. And Megan had made it abundantly clear she was down for it.
I glanced pointedly at her tray. “Nobody likes warm beer. Better get those delivered.”
“Oh … yeah. I’ll just …Yeah.” Cheeks flaming, she turned on her heel and scampered away.
Bridgette sighed and tied on an apron. “If you weren’t playing undercover CEO, the waitresses might leave you alone.”
Bridgette was one of the only staff members at Nite Owl who knew I owned the place. I’d hired my brother’s high school girlfriend years ago when I bought my first restaurant on Sixth, and now she ran most of the day-to-day administrative operations for both my bars.
I wiped my hands on the towel draped over my shoulder. “I’m more worried about them following me upstairs.”
“Because you’re so damned irresistible?” Bridgette scoffed. “Give me a break. You and your brother both think women are only after one thing.”
Raising a brow, I leaned a hip against the bar.
“Jesus, Chase. I meant a commitment.” Bridgette drew out the last word and watched me flinch. Satisfied with my reaction, s
he continued, “Most of these girls are just in it for a quick and dirty. And that’s all good. Telling them you own the place probably wouldn’t change that. Believe it or not, these,” she pointed to her tits, “don’t automatically lower our IQ. Women have goals beyond finding some dude to take care of them.”
Maybe all the zeros in my bank account did play into my overall fear of motive. But one look at my mother was proof that money wasn’t the deciding factor. Callie had followed my father around like a puppy since they were teenagers, giving him two sons and all the love he could ask for. And Tyler never returned the favor. I couldn’t stand him, but deep in my heart, I feared we were alike in more ways than one.
I brushed a kiss to Bridgette’s temple as she poured a draft beer from the tap. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll take it into consideration.”
She placed the pilsners of Miller Lite on the tray, shaking her head. “No, you won’t. Do you want to deliver these, or should I?”
Following her gaze to the other end of the bar, I forced my lips to bend, returning Tiffany’s finger wave with a curt nod.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “I didn’t see her down there.”
“Looks like she brought a friend to sweeten the pot,” Bridgette chortled. But when I busied myself wiping a spot off the clean bar like it was my sole purpose in life, she cocked her head. “I’m guessing the Doublemint twins aren’t on the agenda tonight.”
My eyes drifted to the clock, then the door, scanning the small crowd huddled around the bouncer. “No. I have a … thing.”
Bridgette hoisted the tray. “You really need a wingman. I’m tired of being a traitor to my own kind, running interference for your many admirers. You don’t pay me enough for that.”
I barked out a laugh. “I pay you plenty, Bridge. And I’m not asking you to run interference. I’m honest with every chick I …” A sardonic smile curved her mouth as I struggled for the word. “Date,” I finally managed to choke out.
