by Anthology
“Who I end up with?” Her words were muffled because his tight hold pressed her cheek against his chest.
He pulled back to see her face.
Cindy looked like she was trying to hold back emotions, but failing miserably. She pressed her lips together.
He cupped the fair, soft skin of her face. “You love him, Cin. You can't help who you who fall in love with.”
Her brow dropped, and her mouth drew down into a frown.
Devon removed his hand from her face. She might not physically be with his friend, but her heart was. Devon was certain she knew, or at least she was figuring out, her true feelings.
“You're my friend, too, D, and I'll always love you.” Her voice was raw with emotion.
They stood quietly, holding each other. She felt nice, warm, and familiar, but they finally pulled apart. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Go get him, Cin.” He turned her around and gave her a nudge toward Troy Bickerman, his best friend and bandmate, who stood across the parking lot, waiting in the shadows.
Devon tried to pull himself together. Giving her the go-ahead to move on with Troy was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. Even more difficult than leaving home to join the army years ago.
Turning slowly, he made the walk to his car, never looking back.
He drove away and couldn't bring himself to see what was happening in the rearview mirror. It would've been that much more painful. Devon knew Cindy loved Troy in a way she could never love him.
He probably could've started something serious with her, but in the end, she wouldn't have been happy. So, he selflessly pushed his friends together, and gave them his blessing. All he wanted was her happiness.
Chapter One
Two years ago to the day, Devon had finally said goodbye to any kind of romantic relationship with Cindy Woodley. However, in that time, he had to see her more often than he could cope with easily.
Cindy and his best friend Troy were married; she had quit her job as a flight attendant and toured with their band, Sinful Souls. When they weren't touring, she and Troy lived on the same block as Devon. He got along with them well enough, and as minimally as he could, all things considered, but it was too damn much, too damn close, making life beyond painful for him. He tried to rub the ache in his temples away as he stared blankly at the television.
They’d started out as a garage band back in high school. Devon was the lead singer, Troy the lead guitarist, Barry Altman the drummer, Zachary McDaniel on keyboard. Breck Adams, on bass, had joined on with them a few years ago. Who could've guessed how popular they'd become?
“Fuck me.” Devon sighed, running his hand across the scruff on his face.
They were still on their game all these years later, and that was the one thing that kept Devon going most days. He stayed sober when he had to be presentable for business, or for when he had to perform, but on his days off, he got fucked-up.
And he fucked.
The latest example of which was the nameless brunette running around his place naked gathering her clothes.
Devon would hook up with anyone he could, which wasn't difficult, since there were always groupies around, and he didn't discriminate. If there was a warm willing female, he'd give it a go, didn't matter her looks, size, status, or anything.
In the past, Devon had a rep for being a man-whore, but that hadn’t been the case at all. He had gone for the occasional one-night stand, and let chicks hang all over him at after-parties, but later he'd go to the tour bus, or to his hotel room, alone.
Nowadays, he truly was a man-whore, and he didn't give a shit. It was easy with his status and good looks; short dark brown hair, brown eyes, decent body, and tattoos.
He'd showered, made breakfast, taken something for his headache, and now sat numbly on his couch drinking a beer.
His front door opened, and no surprise, his bandmate Breck walked in. The guy was always checking up on him. It used to piss him off, but he'd eventually gotten used to Breck showing up unannounced. Devon had finally realized it was nice to have someone who understood and cared. He nodded a greeting.
“Hey, man. Let's go hang out.” Breck clapped Devon's back.
“And do what?” Devon's eyes felt heavy, and he was nearly slurring.
Breck frowned at the beer in Devon's hand and then glanced around the place, which admittedly, was a mess. “Anything's better than hanging out here.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Devon attempted to rise from the couch, but he kept losing to gravity's hold.
Breck's arm shot out, preventing him from face-planting on the floor.
The brunette appeared in the living room freshly showered and dressed.
If Breck was surprised, he didn't show it. He gave the woman a nod. “Hey, how's it going?”
“Okay?” She shifted her weight, glanced between the two men, and chewed at her bottom lip. “So, uh, do you want my phone number?” She looked at Devon for a response, but none came.
Breck sat Devon back on the couch, and walked over to her. “Hey, sweetheart, that's not his thing. Do you want something to eat before you go?”
“No, I'm fine. Thank you.”
As Breck walked her to the door, his hand on the small of her back, Devon listened while pretending not to care. But he did; he hated this part. Guilt always consumed him the morning after, but even that couldn't stop his behavior.
“Do you have a ride home?” Breck asked.
“I do, my roommate's outside.”
He nodded and opened the door. “Try not to take it personal; he doesn't do relationships.”
***
Light invaded Devon's senses. “Shit.” He rubbed his eyes, and squinted into the brightness. Where was he? There was a 1950's Fender Precision bass guitar hanging on the wall across from him.
Breck's guitar. He was at his buddy's house.
Carefully moving across the bed, and testing his senses by letting his feet hang over the edge, he inhaled deeply.
“How you feeling?” Breck was leaning against the doorjamb with his muscular arms crossed. He looked more menacing than he actually was.
“Like crap.”
“How much longer do you plan on doing this to yourself?” His friend was glowering at him.
“What do you mean?” He feigned ignorance to avoid the topic.
“Go ahead and keep playing stupid, but while your liver is wasting away, the rest of us would like to keep the band going.” Breck straightened up, looking athletic and sweaty in his running gear.
They used to run together, a long while back, but he stopped right around the time he let Cindy go. In fact, Devon let much of his life go then, but not the music, never the music. He'd surely die a slow death if he had to give up music after losing the woman of his dreams. Music was his second love.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Whatever. Go shower, I'll take you out to breakfast, and we'll talk.”
Breck stared at his friend wordlessly for a moment, nodded, and walked away.
Devon showered in the bathroom attached to his room and dug through the chest of drawers next to the bed. Breck kept extra T-shirts and sweats there for just this reason. Not necessarily for Devon, but for anyone who'd unexpectedly spent the night.
As Devon dressed, he stood in front of the mirror and looked himself over. He was a little softer in the middle than he used to be, his usual military cut was growing out, and with circles under his brown eyes, he appeared tired, and older, like he had aged a lot in the past couple of years.
He glowered at himself and got dressed.
Once at the local diner, they placed their order before either one of them spoke.
“Well, I'm here, talk.” Breck eyed him over his coffee mug.
Devon cleared his throat, and took a swallow from his own cup of brew. “Where should I start?”
Breck raised his eyebrows. “Any-fucking-where would be great.” The man sounded exasperated.
“Yeah, right.” He paused to think. “Troy, Cindy, and I all grew up together.”
Breck nodded.
“I guess things started then. I used to have wet dreams over that girl.” Devon chuckled and shook his head. “I've never told another living soul about that, you're the first.”
“I'll guard your secret.” Breck gave a crooked grin as he put a fist to his chest.
The server appeared with plates stacked high with their meals.
“Don't think you can skip out ‘cause the food's here.” Breck chuckled as he removed a hair tie from his wrist and tied back his wavy brown hair so he could eat.
Looking down at his plate, Devon shook his head somberly. “I won't. I need to work this out. I'm going insane.”
Between bites Devon shared more. “We hung out a lot; our parents all worked together so when they had get-togethers, we'd see each other. We all went to school together, we'd play in each other's yards after school, took vacations together, and we all had sleepovers with Cindy. Basically, she filled our lives. And I fell in love.”
That was the first time he admitted it out loud and he flinched. It was as painful to say as it was to hear come from his own mouth.
“That was when we were younger, and in early high school I was always hard for her, but I never told anyone. Around that time, us guys started to jam together in my garage, messing around playing covers.” A crooked smile spread across his face. “We sounded horrible, sucked actually, but she was always there happy to support us, and making me feel like a rock star. I kept going, kept practicing. I wanted to be good for her so I could deserve her smile.”
Devon shook his head at the memory, and sighed before finishing off his meal.
Chapter Two
Aria Flynn was no stranger to butterflies careening in her stomach. She’d danced before an audience since age three, and no matter how many times she’d been onstage, she still had pre-performance jitters. Once she walked onto the stage, she would go into the zone and stay there until the final note faded away. Dance was rooted deep inside her, somewhere she could go to tune out the rest of the world.
After putting her tamed, red hair up into a tight bun and applying thick stage makeup, she hit the road, heading to the local park for the performing arts festival.
The dressing room was empty! Heart racing and mouth dry, she quickly donned her basic dance apparel—peach-colored tights, matching leotard, and pointe toe shoes before exiting the room.
Crossing the hall, she joined the cluster of women from her ballet troupe. “Am I late?” She frowned and nudged Marcy, her long-time friend.
“What?” Marcy never even turned to look at Aria.
Her friend was only half-listening so Aria nudged her again, this time harder, to get her full attention.
Marcy eyes widened. “Oh, hey girl!” They embraced and rocked back and forth while hugging. Pulling away from Aria, she beamed. “It feels like forever since I've seen you, Aria. I'm so happy you're feeling better from that nasty stomach bug.”
Marcy had been off for a couple of weeks, taking final exams at the local community college making her scarce.
Aria craned her neck to view the performers ahead of them. “Did the time move up?”
Marcy's eyes widened. “What? No, I don't think so, no one said anything to me, and I didn't get a message. Why?”
“I got here early, but the dressing room is empty, and everyone's out here.” Aria nodded toward the other women nearby.
Marcy laughed. “No, you're early, but so is everyone else. Did you check out the lineup for today?”
“No, why? Who's here?”
“Girl, who isn't?” Marcy blurted out. “There are quite a few singers, bands, and dancers. This is a pretty large event. I'm surprised you don't know.”
“I've been super busy at the studio, and before I got sick I never thought to consider who would be here. We perform here all the time.” She shrugged.
“When we finish, we're so going to walk around. No ducking out on me today.” Her friend shook a finger at Aria playfully.
“As long as I'm not out too long. I need time to hit the store before I head home. I need toilet paper.”
The dancers watched from the side until it was their turn. From her vantage point Aria could tell there were a lot of people, but she didn't realize how many until they walked out. The park was full—there were more people than she'd ever seen before—and she’d lived in the area her whole life.
Shaking her head and sucking air into her lungs, she closed her eyes and let the breath out slowly. “I'm ready, I can do this,” she whispered. She moved her feet into open fourth position, her arms followed suit, and when the melody began she opened her eyes.
As usual, the melody displaced her thoughts while her rhythmic bodily movements flowed with the music. The first dance ended and they went right into the next one. After a few more routines, their flawless performance ended, and they exited stage left.
The troupe was hardly off the deck when a crew of men began bringing equipment up.
One of the men ran smack into Marcy, and she reared back. Due to his height, she had to raise her gaze to meet his eyes. “Do you mind?”
The guy stood strong and grinned down at her. “Nope, not at all.”
Marcy sucked her teeth, held her chin up high, and walked away gracefully. The man checked out her friend's ass until she was out of sight.
Aria caught up to Marcy and let out a disgusted grunt. “Men are such pigs.”
“Oh, Aria, not all of them are. There are good ones out there, you just have to find them.” She gently touched Aria's forearm.
“Good luck finding one for me.” Her words were a bit harsh and sarcastic, but she was so sick of her friend’s meddling.
“Aria...” Marcy's eyes narrowed, and her brows pulled down in concentration.
“Marcy, no.”
“I want you to be happy, and I think you should try to move on.”
“I have, Marcy. I've moved on.”
“No, you haven't. One-night stands don't count.”
A few of the women heading out of the dressing room brushed past with their heads down. They were a tight-knit group, and although not everyone hung out together, they had each other's back. They also knew more about one another than necessary, which is why everyone steered clear when Marcy started in on Aria about her love life.
“Stop, not here.” Aria seethed.
Marcy threw her arms up in the air. “Then where, and when?”
“Never!” Aria ran into the room, grabbed her duffel bag, and stormed out without changing into her street clothes. Stopping in the walkway, she clumsily took off her ballet slippers, and walked the rest of the way to her car in stocking covered feet.
Marcy didn't chase after her.
Chapter Three
Someone was knocking on Devon's front door, pulling him from a deep slumber. “Go away!” The insistent knocking continued at an indecent level, harder and louder. He ducked his head under his pillow as drool slid down along his cheek.
The knocking ceased, but the door swung open, and footfalls made their way to his bedroom. “I said, go away,” Devon mumbled from under his cotton pillowcase. Damn, whose brilliant idea was it to give the guy a key to his place? Oh, that's right—his.
“No, when we talked yesterday I was under the impression you wanted a change.” Breck's serious voice thundered through the room.
Devon pulled the pillow from his head and hugged it to his chest. “I do, just not today. Today I choose sleep.”
Breck went to Devon's closet and rooted around. When he returned, he threw jeans and a T-shirt on the bed. “Go shower, get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen. I'll have coffee ready.”
Devon didn't move.
Breck ran a hand down his face, and sighed. “Are you even aware that it's two o'clock in the afternoon?”
Devon rolled his head to the side, looking toward the window. “Shit. Really?”
“Yes,
so move, or we'll be late.”
“Late?”
“Yes, the festival is this weekend. We missed yesterday, I don't want to miss today.”
“Why?”
“God, you really are wasting your life away, aren't you?” Breck shook his head, anger flaring in his eyes, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging. He left the room abruptly.
Devon played their discussion over and over in his mind, but still couldn't make sense of why Breck would be so upset with him. Pulling his phone off the nightstand, he pulled up his calendar. He hadn't checked it recently, since they were between gigs and their tour had only recently ended.
The date flashed on the screen. He had blocked out Thursday through Sunday for the Spring Performance Art Festival. The notation read, “scout bands”.
“Shit.” That’s right…the plan had been to check out bands to scout an opening act for Sinful Souls’ next tour, which was currently in the planning stages.
Showering and dressing as fast as humanly possible with a nasty hangover, he went to the kitchen, hoping his friend was still there. He entered an empty room, and his heart sank.
Taking a deep cleansing breath, he headed to the coffee maker and was somewhat relieved that coffee had been brewed. That was something.
After drinking two cups and eating half of a stale donut, Devon headed out. He wasn't sure if he'd run into Breck at the festival, but he at least owed the guys the courtesy of doing what he said he'd do in the first place.
The original plan was for them to arrive early enough so they could be up close, but since he was running behind, the all-day event was packed. He ended up off to the side, which was fine since he could at least see and hear the performances. According to the schedule board, the third group was on. It wasn't anything he could get into so he began looking for his friend. What a way to spend a Friday night—alone with the smell of BBQ and kettle corn teasing his nostrils. But he'd be damned if he’d text Breck. If they ran into one another, that was different.
Breck was nowhere in sight. Devon pulled his gaze from the crowd to the act and caught a glimpse of bright, fiery-red hair. He couldn't see who it belonged to, but the style looked exquisitely feminine. Back when he cared enough to discriminate, he didn't go for redheads, he was a straight-up brunette kind of guy. This shade of red, though, was stunning, and had to be fake. He craned his neck trying to see the person who belonged to the red mane, but failed when she was swallowed up by the energetic crowd.
