#Moonstruck_A #Lovestruck Novel

by Sariah Wilson

We sat down at the blackjack table with them, and Ryan said hello. He made the introductions to Chase and Zoe Covington. We chatted for only a few minutes. They were in town to do some fund-raising for an ocean-conservation charity they had just started together, and they offered to send some materials to Ryan. They left shortly after we arrived, arms wrapped around each other.

  I tried to imagine Ryan and me being like that. Having those kinds of feelings for each other, and I couldn’t.

  I’d never played blackjack before, so both the dealer and Ryan tried to help me with my cards. He had the waitstaff bring me a big bowl of ice cream, and I discovered that gambling was pretty fun when it wasn’t your money you were spending.

  Nothing but utterly loud chaos, making it impossible for me to dwell on my father sighting.

  Then it was time for us to go back to the bus. We were driving up to Northern California, then on to Oregon and Washington, spending two to three days at each spot.

  It was unbelievably awkward when we pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, right next to our bus. I’d never gone out on a date before where we both ended up in the same place at the end of the evening.

  We went into the lounge, where most of the band and my brothers were watching a movie about giant robots. There were a few strange glances, but we went into the bunk alley, past a snoring Anton, and stopped at my bunk.

  “Everybody saw us on our date,” I offered. That had to be helpful, especially if they were gossips who would pass the word along.

  “They did.” Ryan was so tall and broad that he took up the entire hallway. Like there was nowhere for me to go and nothing for me to do but just give in. The temperature rose as he moved closer to me. “Now what?”

  The way his gaze dropped to my lips, I knew what he hoped I’d say. I fought off the tingles. “Now bed.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  Good grief. “No, me in mine and you in yours.”

  “That’s not nearly as much fun.” He looked like a kid who’d been told he wouldn’t be getting a puppy for Christmas. I wanted to laugh at his forlorn expression.

  “My brothers tend to punch first and ask questions later. Another delightful thing we inherited from our father. They would probably remove all of your favorite body parts.”

  “That would be a shame for both you and me.”

  “Somebody should wash your mind out with soap.”

  He held up both hands, laughing. “Hey, I’m not the one who started it.”

  “Then I’ll be the one to end it. Good night, Ryan.” I grabbed my carry-on bag and shooed him away so I could go into the bathroom and change.

  As he left, someone grabbed my knee, and I yelped. Cole was on the bottom bunk. “That was . . . disturbing.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I told him, knowing I was furiously blushing. It was one thing for Ryan to flirt and tease in private; it was a whole different ball of wax to know it had taken place in front of a judgy brother. “Speaking of things I didn’t want to hear tonight, did you know our father was in Las Vegas?”

  The guilty expression on Cole’s face told me everything I needed to know. “How did you find out?” he asked.

  “Guess where Ryan took me on our date tonight? To the club he was playing.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Did I talk to him?” Had Cole started taking drugs? “To the man who ruined our family and our mom? No, I didn’t talk to him.” But the fact that Cole had asked made me realize he probably had. “Have you seen our father?”

  More guilt on his face.

  “Why would you see him on purpose?”

  “He’s our dad.”

  “He is not our ‘dad,’” I snapped back. “He’s our genetic donor. I can’t believe you did that.”

  “He asked about you, Maisy. Wanted to know how you were doing.”

  That just made me angrier. “Know what I want? For him to have not left our mother. For her to be whole and not living in some facility because of the accident. You can’t always get what you want.”

  I felt totally betrayed. I went into the bathroom and slammed shut the sliding door. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as slamming a heavy, swinging door.

  There was not one part of me that believed my father cared about me. I had too much experience to suggest otherwise. I’d never once felt like he loved me. As a little girl, I was always trying to get his attention. To be pretty enough or talented enough so I’d be worthy of his notice. I didn’t know if it was just the basic differences between men and women that made Cole and me see things in such radically different ways, or just our personalities.

  If our father cared about us, he would have checked in on our mom. He would have been there after the accident to see how he could help. Instead, he abandoned us and forced Fitz to become our substitute parent. If our father had cared, he would have sent us money. He wouldn’t have fathered twenty new half siblings. He wouldn’t have put his pathetic music career above us.

  I sighed as my anger started to dissipate. The entire evening had been like a roller coaster. High, low, high, low. Thanks to my baggage and dumb family.

  All this time I’d been saying I needed to stay away from Ryan so he wouldn’t break my heart.

  Maybe Ryan should stay away from me and my drama. He’d be better off without it.

  I had to call Angie the next day. I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression about Ryan and me if she saw something online.

  She didn’t even say hello. “What’s happening with you and Ryan?”

  “What have you heard?”

  She squealed so loudly I had to pull my phone away from my ear. “Nothing. I was completely speculating. Lurid details now!”

  “I need you to be my nurse.”

  “Why?”

  “Nurse–patient confidentiality.” I didn’t know if that was a thing, but she had to stay silent.

  “Okay. What are your symptoms?”

  “At the moment? My stomach hurts and my chest aches. I’m making really stupid decisions, risky moves, and I want to forget my rules.”

  “I am diagnosing you with a serious crush. Which I can’t blame you for. Now what’s the secret you need to tell me?”

  I sat in one of the bathrooms, the only places that had any privacy on this bus besides Ryan’s bedroom.

  I was not going in Ryan’s bedroom ever again.

  “Ryan and I are dating.”

  More shrieks and squeals.

  “Angie, Angie! It’s fake. We’re not really dating.”

  “Oh. Okay. Wink. Wink. You’re not really dating.”

  It might make my life easier if my best friend believed me. “I’m serious. We’re just friends.”

  “Right. I forgot because of how you look at each other and how your voice sounds when you talk about him.” She paused. “How many times have you guys kissed already?”

  “None.” Ha!

  “How many times have you almost kissed?”

  Uh. Well, that one was a bit trickier.

  “I knew it! You love Ryan, and you’re completely moonstruck, and you’re going to have little moon babies.”

  “What’s a moon baby?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re going to have one! I’m going to be best friends with the wife of the world’s biggest pop star.”

  “Or you’re going to be best friends with the lead singer of the world’s coolest band.”

  “Shh,” she told me. “I’m picturing your wedding. I’ve caught the bouquet made out of sheets of music.”

  “Which means you’ll get married next. Speaking of . . . have you talked to Fox lately?”

  “Fox?” She sounded completely confused. Maybe I had misread that situation. “Why would I talk to him?”

  “That night at the concert, I thought I saw something between the two of you.”

  Now there was silence from Angie’s end. I hadn’t imagined it!

  “You can marry Fox and become his vixen and have little fox babies. Which
are called kits.” I had totally looked it up.

  “That’s not his real name. It was one he got at boot camp because he was wily and devious. His real name is Eugene.”

  Fox was definitely better. “I love that you know that about him.”

  “This conversation has taken a turn for the weird. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I got her to stay on for a few more minutes as I asked her about my mom. But my mother was the same. No changes, and she had been calm and contented.

  She hadn’t missed me at all.

  I promised to keep in touch, glad I had at least planted the seed in Angie’s mind about Fox.

  Keeping in contact became difficult because we were so busy. We did several more performances in parts of the country I’d never seen before. Each time we did a show, it felt just like the first time. I hoped that would stay true. That it would never become old and boring, and I’d be just as excited someday at my last show as I was now.

  Our bus was a complete and total bro-zone. Every other occupant of the bus changed wherever, and they were often in various states of undress. Which was fine; I was used to it.

  Except for Ryan.

  That never failed to make my pulse race and my breathing become shorter and faster.

  Which I think he knew.

  Like the night I came into the lounge and found him playing video games. He kind of sucked. I said as much.

  “See that leaderboard?” He brought up the screen. “Number one, thank you very much.”

  Then he rested his hand on his bare stomach, and it took all of my willpower not to do the same.

  Sarcasm was my only defense. “Against twelve-year-old kids. I’m super impressed.”

  “You can do better?”

  Did he not remember the last time he issued me that challenge? “I don’t really like video games.”

  He tossed me a controller, and, sighing, I sat down.

  “What do your tattoos mean?” I asked, maneuvering around a difficult obstacle in the game.

  “Checking out my tats? I knew you liked me.”

  “Shut up. I was just curious.”

  I easily won the first round, which seemed to throw him.

  “Let’s go again.” We’d been playing for a couple of minutes when he said, “The music notes are obvious. The triangle represents fire. Something I got when they started calling me El Caliente. And the black band is for my mom.”

  That was really sweet. So sweet I almost considered throwing the game. I didn’t, though.

  It took only three rounds before he admitted defeat.

  “What was that?” he asked just as Parker entered the room. He looked at us and raised one eyebrow.

  “Whatever you do, dude, don’t play against Maze. She will destroy you.”

  “Where was that warning five minutes ago?” Ryan turned toward me. “I thought you said you sucked.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t any good. Just that I don’t like them.” Apparently, whatever kind of manual dexterity made me skilled at guitar also made me excellent with a game controller. “Three brothers, remember?”

  “You’re the kind of girl a guy would show off to his buddies,” Ryan said in a tone of respect and awe.

  Since I had those three brothers, I knew that was one of the highest compliments a man could give a woman. “I could trounce them, too, if you’d like.”

  “You probably also shouldn’t try to argue with her, either,” Parker suggested, sitting down on Ryan’s other side, to both my relief and disappointment. “Maisy always thinks she’s the smartest person in the room.”

  Before I could protest, Ryan jumped in. “When she thinks this, are you the only other person in the room? Because then she’d be right.”

  That led to some shoving and laughter, and I was impressed by how quickly and easily Ryan had won my brothers over, especially getting in on their insult games.

  He soon found ways to win me over, too.

  In Portland, my brothers and I had a fun, amazing performance, and at Piper’s invitation, I stuck around backstage instead of returning to the tour bus. I didn’t tell her that I tended to stay and watch his concert most nights.

  Ryan put on another mesmerizing show, and I found myself humming along to most of his songs. In the middle of his set, instead of running offstage to change outfits like he was supposed to, the crew members brought him a guitar and two stools.

  “I know you’ve already heard a version of this song once this evening, but I thought you might like to hear it again. I need everyone to put their hands together and bring out the lovely Maisy Harrison. Come on out, Maisy!”

  The audience cheered and whistled.

  Stunned, I stayed put in the wings. I turned to see Piper nudging me, a huge grin on her face. “Go on, Maisy. It’ll be fun.”

  When I didn’t move, she took matters into her own hands. She pushed me, hard. Landing me onstage.

  “There she is! Everyone welcome Maisy!”

  The audience started chanting my name while I was stuck in my deer-in-the-headlights position.

  One of the roadies came out and handed me my Dreadnought. I wanted to duck backstage and pretend this wasn’t happening, but I couldn’t.

  What was he doing? Our “relationship” wasn’t front-page news, although it had made the rounds. Maybe Ryan was trying to take this thing more public. Which I had agreed to and been well paid for.

  So I walked across the stage, waving to the crowd and smiling. When I got close to him, I asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sit down.” He nodded at the empty stool, and I sat, putting my guitar across my lap.

  “I want us to sing ‘One More Night’ together. Like your YouTube version.”

  “But . . . we haven’t practiced.” The thing with seasoned professionals was that you didn’t have to practice for weeks on end to get something right. We could take two or three passes at a song to coordinate our vocals and the music. A rehearsal or two later, we could perform just about any song perfectly. But Ryan and I hadn’t gone over the music together or worked out our harmonies or who would come in when.

  “Just sing it exactly the same way you did in the video,” he said. “I’ll take the first verse, you take the second, and we’ll sing the chorus and the bridges together.”

  This had the potential to be a disaster of epic proportions.

  Ryan started the intro to the song, and I joined in. Even if our voices weren’t compatible, our guitars seemed to love each other.

  He began to sing.

  I know you can’t stay

  Someplace you gotta be

  Won’t stand in your way

  But, girl, you gotta see

  Then I joined in.

  We’ll make this all right

  Won’t give up the fight

  If you give me, give me . . .

  One more night

  Just to be with you alone

  One more night

  Let the music take us home

  One more night

  To pretend we’re in control

  All I need is one more, one more, one more night

  Nothing stunned me more than how perfectly our voices blended together. As if we’d practiced this song a million times. So much so that I nearly missed when I was supposed to come in.

  Tomorrow you’ll be gone

  Tonight’s our last chance

  I know you’re moving on

  I need one last dance

  Then Ryan came back in, and again we sang in perfect, flawless harmony.

  Like ships in the night

  We’ll fade in the light

  So please give, give me . . .

  One more night

  Just to be with you alone

  One more night

  Let the music take us home

  One more night

  To pretend we’re in control

  All I need is one more, one more,

  One more, baby,

  One more night<
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  He looked into my eyes as he played the final notes of the song. That moment, onstage with him, was transcendent. Like my spirit left my body and was watching everything happening from twenty feet in the air. I couldn’t feel my arms or hands or face. My fingers played solely from muscle memory because I wasn’t controlling them.

  When I originally recorded this song, I’d been thinking of my mother. I wasn’t now. There was only the music surrounding us, binding us together. Everyone around us faded away. There was no stage, no crowd of screaming women.

  Just Ryan and me.

  His soul spoke directly to mine, saying, “I found you.” Two halves fusing into a whole.

  The last note faded, and the audience screamed. I wanted to say something to him. To tell him how important this moment felt. That something had just shifted between us.

  When he leaned over, I thought he would say it first. “I practiced with your video.” That explained how it had gone so well.

  It was not what I had hoped he would say.

  I discovered it wasn’t what I wanted him to say, either.

  Because he hadn’t felt it. I’d been alone in what I’d experienced. So I smiled and again waved to the crowd as Ryan said, “Give it up one more time for Maisy Harrison!”

  I needed to accept the reality of our situation. I was a paid, fake girlfriend.

  But given what had just happened onstage, he made it hard for me to remember.

  The next day, just before we reached Seattle, I woke up from a nap with a raging thirst and started for the front of the bus to grab a bottle of water. As I climbed out of the bunk, I heard the far door open and saw Ryan enter the bunk alley.

  Which meant I had to pass him. He again had his shirt off. I was starting to wonder if there was some kind of De Luna vendetta against crew necks.

  We met in the middle, but instead of turning and passing, he stood in front of me. “Hey.”

  “Hi. Move, please.”

  He turned his body to one side, but he took up too much space.

  Just as I realized there was no way to move past without brushing up against him, the bus swerved violently to the left. The motion threw me against Ryan and knocked both of us to the floor. Somehow he twisted and took the brunt of the fall, letting out an oof sound as I collapsed on top of him.

  There was a thumping noise, and I looked up to see that DJ Anton had rolled out of his bed and landed in the alley.