No One to Hold (The Hold series Book 1)

by Arell Rivers

  “If Rose says we must go, then oui, I will go.”

  My shoulders slump. “Such a trooper. Why don’t we do something low key? That way, the paparazzi can get their photos and spin their own story about us wanting alone time before I head out to Vegas.”

  “But do you think Greta will approve? What did she have arranged?”

  At this moment, I don’t care whether Gruesome, or more accurately Rose, will approve or not. The irony of her selecting the restaurant at the very same hotel I had considered booking for us is not sitting well with me.

  “I’m sure she can improvise. So, how about a stroll through Central Park? We can get dirty water dogs.”

  Emilie’s reaction is priceless. Her face draws back and scrunches up. “What?”

  Chuckling, I explain the local name for hot dogs from a street vendor. She looks relieved, as I’m sure whatever she suspected the phrase meant scared her shitless. She offers, “How about I get a pretzel and you get one of those dirty dogs?”

  “You’re on. Why don’t you go change and I’ll meet you in the living room in half an hour?” She nods and leaves my room.

  The more the minutes tick by, the angrier I’m getting. Not just at Momzilla, but at Rose. Why didn’t she stand up for me at dinner? Or at least try to explain our situation? Why did she hide Marco’s visit? And why hasn’t she said she loves me back?

  I walk into the living room and pace unseeingly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. I pull out my phone and text Rose. Em & I are going to Central Park now & that’s it for tonight. She’s beat & I’m not in the mood. Flying out on redeye—will see you at home on Sunday. We need to talk. I hit send as Emilie crosses my line of vision.

  Despite my frustration with Rose, I appreciate Emilie’s professionalism. “You look beautiful. The paps are going to eat you up.”

  “Thank you, Cole. Is your bodyguard joining us?”

  A light bulb goes off in my head. Maybe she returns Wills’s attraction? “Yes, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Oui, that is good. He makes me feel safe.”

  “Is that all he makes you feel, Em? Should I be jealous?” A slight blush steals over her cheeks. Bingo.

  Em is saved from further torment by a knock at the door. “Em, can you please get the door? I need to get something from the other room.”

  She nods and heads toward the front door to greet Wills. At least I can help them out this much. Wandering back into my bedroom, I call out from the threshold of my bedroom, “I’ll be a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Once in my room, I sit down on the bed and check my messages. Rose has responded: k

  Seriously, is that even a response? With a huff, I press “send” on my phone. She picks up after a couple of rings.

  “Hi, Cole.”

  “Ro, what’s going on?” No use beating around the bush.

  “I’m hanging out with my mother.” Great, Momzilla’s within hearing distance.

  “Tell her I said hello.” I hear Rose relay my message, but her mother’s response is garbled, like a Peanuts cartoon. I can only imagine what her mother said.

  “Are you okay with the change in plans? Emilie and I don’t want a long evening, plus I have to catch the plane tonight anyway.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sure the paparazzi will snap shots of you two in Central Park. Make sure to give them some good photo ops.”

  “I know the drill. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about this charade we’re creating. I need to talk with you. What is going on between us? It’s like you’re a million miles away from me.”

  “I’m working out a strategy for when Fashion Week ends and Emilie returns to Los Angeles.”

  “Wait, what? Go to another room so we can talk privately.”

  “I wish I could, but that’s impossible. But I’ll make sure your Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts are updated.”

  “Ro, I’m going insane over here. Give me this. Tell me we’ll talk about whatever’s going on when we get back home.” I still don’t know why Gruesome is insisting that she personally attend my “surprise” concert in Las Vegas. I would much rather have Rose with me. Especially now.

  “That’s fine.” I am starting to hate professional Rose. Momzilla says something and Rose responds, but she must have put her hand over the receiver, because I can’t make out their words.

  Sighing, I realize this conversation is going no further. Just two more days. Then we can get to the bottom of her weird behavior.

  “Ro, I know how you feel about me. And I love you. We’ll work this out, whatever this is. I will see you Sunday.” I don’t wait for her to reply before disconnecting the call.

  I splash cold water on my face in the bathroom. Time to put on a show for the media.

  When I return to the living room, Wills and Emilie are sitting on the sofa, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. At least that makes one happy couple. I clear my throat and they both stand up.

  “Ready to go?” I extend my hand toward Emilie. She nods and we follow Wills to the front door.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, I’m seated on a plane with Wills in the seat next to mine. I pull my baseball cap down lower to try to avoid being recognized as people file past us. I need to work out whatever the hell is going on with Rose. And I also have to mentally prepare for performing “No One to Hold” live.

  At least the outing with Em went well. She even tasted my hot dog. I grin, remembering the look on her face after she took a bite. Some reporter took a photo of my wiping mustard off her lip. It was fun, but certainly no comparison to my experience at Pink’s with Ro.

  I lean over to Wills. “Are you okay with the situation between me and Emilie? You know I’m committed to Rose, and I do believe Em is falling for you.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” he said, raising his brows. “She’s a supermodel.”

  “I think she’s into the big protector types. I’m going to have to figure out a way you can take her on a date.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Anything for love.” I give him a wink. He punches me on my arm and turns away to get some shut eye. I do the same.

  Thankfully, we land in Las Vegas without attracting too many gawking fans on the plane. The flight attendants were pretty good and not overly solicitous, either. I did overhear someone mention how hard it must have been for me to leave Emilie behind at Fashion Week. At least I can let Rose know that her publicity plan is working like a charm.

  An airline rep escorts Wills and I directly into a VIP lounge with a special exit to the car. It’s nice to have this privacy. “Wills, Roberto is flying with Rose to LA tomorrow, or I guess later today, right?”

  “Yeah. He’ll see her to your house safely, then go into the office to work with Kates and the police about the latest incident with your stalker.”

  “Sounds good.” It reassures me to know that Rose will be safe. “I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to crashing as soon as we get to Caesars.”

  THE SOUND OF AN alarm going off rouses me from my fitful sleep. It’s noon, and I need to get my head on straight before tonight’s “impromptu” concert. Once my room service-provided French toast and sausage are lodged in my belly, I check my phone and send Rose a quick text: Have a safe flight. See you at home.

  No use continuing to ask her what’s wrong since I’m going to see her tomorrow and we can get to the bottom of it. Together.

  My final text is to Martinez. Yo, Martinez. When do you want to rehearse or are you too good for that?

  His response is instantaneous: Just finished with twins. See you in the practice room at 2.

  I shake my head. Not long ago, I would have been with Martinez and the twins. Now the thought has lost its allure.

  I take a quick shower and make my way to the practice room Martinez reserved. Sitting down at the piano, I play “No One to Hold.” By the third go-round, I’m as comfortable with the song as I can be.


  To change things up before Martinez arrives, I play “Taboo.” Pictures of Rose run through my head. Of her on the beach in Santa Monica, of her fighting with me over the blue convertible, of us making love in my pool. Of her flower birthmark. I frown as more recent memories of meeting her mother take over, and sing the final lines quietly:

  Will you always be here?

  I know I will

  Clapping brings me out of my fog. I turn to see Martinez walking up the aisle, his hair still damp.

  “Sounding good, Manchester.”

  “Thanks, Martinez. Nice of you to join me. Did the twins leave you with any energy?”

  A grin steals over his face as he fist bumps me. “They were fucking amazing. Too bad you’re off the market. They’re just your type. Nice asses and no inhibitions.”

  I give him a smirk and reply, “I’ll leave the whoring to you, buddy. Rose gives me everything I need.”

  At the mention of her name, he looks around. “Where is she? I thought she’d be here with you.”

  I shake my head. “She’s not coming.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Everything okay between the two of you?”

  Now that’s a loaded question. “Things are a little tense between us right now. I met her mother and we didn’t hit it off.” That’s putting it mildly.

  “Dude, that sucks. But if anyone can charm a skittish mom, it’s you.”

  “I hope so.” I don’t want to get into this any deeper. Plus, what can I say? We’re on really shaky ground and she won’t talk to me? I’d sound like a real pussy.

  I continue. “Rose wasn’t supposed to be here, anyway. Greta the Gruesome pulled rank. But that didn’t prevent her from making Rose do all the legwork for my appearance.”

  “Speaking of which, we should get to work. I want to get another round in with the Amazing Twins before show time.”

  Shaking my head, I grab my guitar and we begin to rehearse the song that I’m going to sing with him onstage before I perform my newest single. Eventually, we move to the stage and the show’s director does a walk-through of how I’m going to “surprise” my buddy onstage. Following sound check, we’re finished.

  Clapping me on the back, Ozzy asks, “Dinner?”

  I check my watch. “I’d love to, but I think Gruesome has me scheduled for some press stuff.”

  “Well, enjoy. I plan to. See you onstage, killer.”

  He leaves the stage, presumably in pursuit of the twins, and I return to the piano in the practice room. After playing a few more songs, I close the fall board and motion for Wills to join me. He’s been lurking in the background all day.

  “Hey, enjoy the rehearsal?”

  “It was interesting. Got a good handle on the room’s layout.”

  I nod. “So, did Rose’s flight take off on time?”

  His eyes shift from side to side. He looks . . . uncomfortable. My heart begins to race. He says, “She wasn’t on the flight.”

  Is Rose sick? “What do you mean she didn’t wasn’t on it?”

  “From what I understand, a guy showed up at her mother’s and she was delayed. Roberto said the guy’s name was Marco.”

  What. The. Fuck. Marco? The man her mother considers the paragon above all men? Her first boyfriend? Just how were they “delayed”?

  “There you are, handsome.”

  I swing around to face Gruesome. Her tall, lithe frame is poured into a red jumpsuit, her collagen-injected lips stained to match. “Greta.” Wills melts into the background once again.

  She looks me up and down, clearly without a thought for her non-fraternization policy. “Ready for your surprise performance?”

  I’m ready to punch out a prick named Marco. Then I need to find out what’s going on from my girlfriend. At least I think she’s my girlfriend.

  “Cole?”

  Swallowing my feelings, I respond, “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She takes my arm and leads me toward the door. “Let’s go whip the press into a frenzy.”

  FROM BACKSTAGE, I watch my friend perform. He’s really cranking up the crowd. They’re eating him up. “Good for you, buddy,” I mutter under my breath.

  I take one more peek out into the audience. “You’re going to do great, Cole,” Gruesome says from behind me, rubbing her bony fingers up and down my arm. “The press is all abuzz.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, extricating my arm from her talons by fiddling with my guitar.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this concert for anything. It’s like old times.” I don’t remember Gruesome being around all that much at the beginning of my career. Whatever.

  Martinez starts to chat up the crowd. I tamp down my feelings about Rose, letting the adrenaline take over. It’s been a while since I’ve taken the stage, and this venue’s the perfect size.

  “I’m going to let you do your thing. See you afterward. Rock on.” Gruesome squeezes my bicep and then disappears backstage. The stage manager taps me on the shoulder. “Ready to jump on the stage when he hits the chorus?”

  Nodding, I close my eyes and count backward from ten, banishing all thoughts about Rose and that fucker Marco. My eyes slowly open again, and I’m 100% in the zone.

  Within a minute, the stage manager hands me the microphone and says, “Go.” I walk onto the stage. The audience’s excitement crescendos as they recognize me; I need to adjust my earpiece to accommodate the racket. I hit my mark and start to harmonize with Martinez. He introduces me while I play the song’s guitar riff, throwing the crowd a nod and a smirk. We finish his song to thunderous applause.

  “Hope you don’t mind, I was in the neighborhood . . .” We begin our rehearsed lines, making them sound as off-the-cuff as possible. Surprisingly, I’m enjoying myself.

  “Say, Martinez, mind if I try something out?” Squeals rise from the audience.

  “Buddy, whatever you want. I got all night.” He looks out and blows a kiss to a young lady in the front.

  Shaking my head, I continue. “How about I play my new single? It drops next week, but I thought since I’m here . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. What would our label say?”

  I pretend to search the audience. “Don’t see anybody from the label in here.”

  The audience claps like crazy. It’s fun working them into a frenzy. All of my problems are gone. I’ve missed this.

  “What do you all think? Want to hear this guy’s new song?”

  He pauses to listen to the shouts from the crowd. I hand my guitar to a roadie and walk over to the piano.

  “I don’t know, Manchester. They don’t sound all that excited to me,” he says, grinning at me.

  I hit a few keys on the piano, more to test out my fingers than to gain attention. “Well, if they’re not interested—”

  Screams and clapping fill the theater. A smile passes between us. I take my seat at the piano.

  Waiting for the noise to quiet down, I begin. “I hope you like this. It’s dedicated to my mother. It’s called ‘No One to Hold.’”

  I begin to play the introduction and a hush falls. All of sudden, the enormity of this moment hits me. I’m raw and exposed, and all my emotions about Mom and Rose are being poured into the song. It’s just me and the piano. During the chorus, I look out into the audience and see a sea of cell phone lights swaying in time to the beat. I can feel Mom sitting beside me at the piano, lending her support as my fingers fly over the keys. I knew performing this song live would be difficult, but I never anticipated how utterly profound and naked I would feel.

  As I sing the last note, all of the emotions welling inside me collide with the outpouring of positive energy from the audience. The song ends and there’s a split-second hush, followed by an eruption of applause.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn my head and see that everyone is standing. Looking up to the heavens, I whisper, “For you, Mom.” Wiping a tear, I stand up and am immediately enveloped in a bear hug from Martinez.

  �
�Manchester, that was magical,” he whispers.

  “Thanks, man.” We both turn around, giving the crowd our backs.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I reply a bit unsteadily. Clearing my throat, I repeat, “Yeah.”

  Pull it together, Manchester. I nod at him and we turn and walk to the front of the stage. The applause has not diminished.

  “Isn’t he fan-fucking-tastic?” More clapping.

  “Thanks for letting me crash your party, Martinez!” Even more noise. “Now I’m going to let you get back to your concert.”

  “Everybody, don’t forget to download Cole Manchester’s newest single when it drops next week. But don’t tell our label you heard it here first!”

  I take my bow, wave at the crowd and return backstage, completely drained. Martinez strikes up another one of his hits.

  “Great job.”

  “Thanks.” I take a bottle of water from Wills and walk out the back door, straight into a crowd of well-wishers. In a daze, I fake a smile and sign whatever is handed to me.

  Every woman here reminds me of her. A tween sporting a ponytail. A grandmother with glasses. A co-ed brunette. I keep signing and posing for photos.

  Gruesome’s familiar talons rake up my arm. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

  Bracing myself for more fakery, I do a one-eighty and come face-to-face with some Italian-looking guy. Who has his arm around Rose. My Rose.

  Open-mouthed, my eyes dart from Rose to that fucker with his arm around her. This must be Marco. Smarmy prick. She refuses to look at me, but her hair is down, her contacts are in and she’s wearing a sexy black mini dress with fuck-me pumps. Definitely not work attire.

  Keeping his left arm around Rose, The Fucker extends his right hand to me, saying “Marco Ricci. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I shake his hand, offering a bone-crushing grip. I can’t force myself to utter a word.