Resonance (A Golden Beach Novel)

by Kim Loraine

  She walked him to the door, smiling and feeling like a little bit of herself had been repaired with that statement. He kissed her cheek and wrapped her in his arms before closing the door and leaving her alone with her makeup remover and cell phone to keep her company.

  Angela sat in the studio, her fingers roaming idly over the keys of the gorgeous Steinway. All of the drama had at least resulted in a creative rush for her, and although she was sure her appearance at a studio sans the other two-thirds of Panic Station would add fuel to the fire, she needed to get this song down.

  “You ready?” Joel, the recording engineer sat behind the thick, soundproof glass and held his finger over the intercom button.

  “Yeah, ready.”

  He displayed a thumbs-up sign and started rolling.

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she started playing, a mournful melody that fit her mood. The song filled the room, a slow build of intense emotion that crested in the last moments and ebbed away like the waves on the beach back home. She had tears in her eyes as she came back to herself and made a swiping motion across her neck to get Joel to stop the track.

  Joel’s voice came over the intercom when the recording light dimmed. “Wow, just . . . wow. You wanna hear it?”

  She shook her head. “Not today. Can you send me the track when you’ve cleaned it up a bit? Marcus needs to hear something from me before long. We’re four tracks short for the new album.”

  He offered an encouraging smile. “This is real different from your usual stuff. It’s damn good, though. I’ll have it to you in a day or two.”

  As she strode out of the studio she was assaulted by the heat of the late July sun mixed with flashes of cameras. She hadn’t been the focus of much since the scandal had broken and Aiden had moved on with another girl. What was this about?

  “Angela, are you back with Aiden?”

  “Is the engagement back on now that Panic Station has broken up?”

  “What does Garrett say?”

  “How do you feel about Garrett and Alexsandra?”

  Her head spun with all the questions. She had been so blissfully press-free over the last few weeks that this was overwhelming.

  “Are you going solo?”

  “Did the band break up?”

  She didn’t know how to answer any of these questions. Feeling panicky and nervous, she covered her face with her lyric book and rushed to her sporty little rental car. As she left the press in the dust, she wondered where they’d gotten the idea that she and Aiden were back together.

  Aiden was standing in her parking space when she pulled into the garage. His trademark smirk in place, he looked every inch the delectable rock star he was.

  “So, we’re back together are we?” she asked as she stepped out of her car.

  “It would seem so. I haven’t made an official statement.”

  He pulled out his phone and shoved it at her. She took in the images on his screen. Pictures of her in his arms, flushed and dreamy-eyed wearing nothing but a robe, some of him with a huge grin on his face as he left the photo shoot, others of her leaving with the flowers he’d given her.

  “Where do they hide?”

  Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Nah, this wasn’t paparazzi. This was probably some intern at the shoot. People are passionate about us, baby doll. They want this to happen.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, Aiden. Not again.”

  He pressed a palm to the small of her back, escorting her to the elevator.

  “How about a compromise? We don’t confirm or deny. We’re friends, colleagues, former lovers. Let’s let the press take it whichever way they choose, but we remain silent. No forced PDA, no avoidance.”

  She chewed on the idea for a while, watching the buttons light up as the elevator ascended to her fourteenth floor apartment.

  “Okay, fine. But if this shit gets out of hand again, I’m done.”

  “Right there with you. I’m tired of having to play the spurned lover. I like being the cheating bad boy, not the brokenhearted one. It’s exhausting.”

  “Want to trade?”

  He laughed and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “Hey, want to perform with me on Hollywood Dance-Off?”

  “What?”

  He shrugged and walked with her to her door. “I got a call this afternoon. They want both of us. I guess they’re doing a special duets night.”

  She knew the excitement in her eyes betrayed her cool exterior. “I guess that’d be fine.”

  “Good. I’ll have Marcus get you the details. Oh, and the camera crew is up and running again. They’ll be with me most of the time we’re rehearsing. You okay with that?”

  The camera crew again? She suppressed a shudder.

  “Will they be following me, too?”

  “No. Just me this time, and only for a few hours a day.”

  She relaxed a bit. Only a few hours meant a lot more freedom than they’d had before. Not that she was doing anything that required freedom anymore.

  When she didn’t respond, he continued. “We’ll be on in a few weeks. Rehearsals start next Thursday.”

  She nodded, making a mental note to tell the guys. They really needed to finish the album and start planning their next tour. If there even was a band anymore.

  Aiden dropped a kiss on the top of her head and turned to leave.

  “Aiden?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got it, baby doll.”

  Chapter 36

  Garrett sat in the studio, a guitar in his lap as he worked through a complicated grouping of chord changes, trying to figure out a way to make it work a little easier. He needed to lay down the guitar track while Angela and Parker played the piano and bass parts. They’d already recorded his drum part and would get his and Angie’s vocals down last. It was the final piece of a time-consuming process, which meant a long day spent not talking to Angela.

  “Hey, sounds good.” Angela’s voice startled him and sent a cold tingle down his spine.

  As much as he wanted to hate her, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was a glutton for punishment and she was a persistent, bull-headed pain in the ass.

  “Thanks,” he said around the guitar pick in his mouth.

  “Want me to play that? I can always lay down the piano track after everything else is done.”

  “Nah, I want to hear it all together. Make sure it doesn’t get lost in everything else.”

  She shrugged and sat at the piano. “All right. Shall we give it a try?”

  “Parker’s not here yet.”

  “He will be. You always say there’s no such thing as too much rehearsal.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I do say that.”

  He counted off and they started playing together, singing softly in unison, then splitting into a rich harmony. Things were always so right between them when they made music, he could almost forget the reasons he had for letting her go—almost. As the song wound down to the final strains, he caught her looking at him with sadness in her eyes. It was hard to know he was the one doing that to her, but self-preservation kept him from giving in.

  “That was . . .”

  “It was,” he agreed.

  Parker waltzed in and offered him his usual smile; he only gave Angie a slight nod.

  “Back with Aiden, I see? And for real this round. Damn, girl, you wasted no time.”

  Ice flooded his veins as he watched her pale. Her eyes widened as she looked from him to Parker.

  “Take a look, Gare. Just in case you thought maybe she was getting her shit together.”

  Garrett swiped through the photos of her in Aiden’s arms, wearing a fucking bathrobe and looking fresh
ly screwed. His heart nearly stopped when he saw pictures of her leaving the studio, alone. They hadn’t booked any additional studio time.

  “Are you going fucking solo behind our backs?” He tried to contain the anger in his voice, but the idea that she’d finally given in to Aiden, given him what he’d wanted all along, and was working on stuff without them . . . That was too much.

  Before she could answer him his phone rang. He almost ignored it, but when he saw his father’s face on the screen he knew it must be something important. His dad never called, that was Mom’s job.

  Shoving the guitar into Parker’s hands, he raised the phone to his ear and walked out of the room.

  “Hello?”

  “Garrett, son. It’s your father,” his dad said, as if he wouldn’t know. His voice sounded funny, strained, and tired.

  “Dad, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Jamie. There’s been an accident.”

  Dread grabbed hold of him and pulled—hard.

  “What?”

  “He was in a fire. I don’t . . . he might not make it. You need to come home. The firefighters got him out, but . . . Oh, Jesus.”

  His dad went silent on the line and a pit formed in his stomach.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, son.”

  All anger drained from him as he walked back into the soundproof studio room. Angela and Parker stared at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

  “I have to go. I have to go home. Jamie’s in the hospital.”

  Parker crossed the distance between them and put an arm around him. “What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

  “It . . . uh . . . a fire. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

  “Of course we’ll all go,” Parker offered.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t finish today. I need to book a flight and get home.”

  “Sure. I’ll call Marcus and let him know. I’ve got lots of miles to use up. I’ll get us tickets, man.” Parker looked from Garrett to Angela. “Coach okay with you?”

  Angela’s face was mixed with regret, sorrow, and worry. Her eyebrows were raised and furrowed and tears shined in her eyes. “I can’t.”

  Parker turned on her, but Garrett wasn’t surprised.

  “What?”

  “I can’t. We’re supposed to be on Hollywood Dance-Off in two weeks. I can’t miss any rehearsal time.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Angie,” Parker pleaded.

  “I could book my own flight, but I’ll only be able to come for a day. I’ve got to be back right away.”

  Garrett was numb. He turned and left the room, unwilling to hear more from her. This was unforgivable. These were her true colors, and it killed him.

  Before he slammed the door, he turned to face her, letting his rage take over. “You know what, Angie? Don’t fucking bother.”

  Parker paid the cab driver and hefted his bass and luggage over to a cart at the airport while Garrett stared at the text from Angela. I can’t leave. Please forgive me.

  He couldn’t believe she’d gone this far. Even though, in his anger, he’d told her not to come, he’d expected her to show up. The old Angela would’ve dropped everything for his little brother. They were family. This tour was supposed to have been the best thing for their careers. Instead, it had ended up being the end of them.

  “I’m not going back. As far as I’m concerned, she can replace me.” Parker was angry, a righteous kind of anger that would die down eventually.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Garrett pulled his backpack over his shoulders and strode to the ticket counter.

  Angela didn’t know that he’d asked to be let out of his contract. She didn’t know that right now, Marcus was having someone pack up his drum kit and ship it home. It was better that way. He didn’t think he could look at her. Didn’t want to look at her. She was just a mask, not the woman he’d known since they were twelve. She wasn’t the girl who’d worked her ass off to learn how to play guitar, taken voice lessons, played until her fingers bled. Or maybe she was. Maybe this was who she’d wanted to be all along. Maybe he was the one who had changed.

  As he and Parker sat at the bar waiting for their flight to board he tried not to think of her. It was near impossible here in LA, where gossip was the only news airing on the giant flat screens at each restaurant and terminal. He couldn’t go five minutes without seeing a story about their tumultuous love affair, about the band’s break up, or about her and Aiden, reconciling once again.

  “God, I wish they’d turn this shit off.” Parker took a swig of his beer and grimaced.

  “It’s fine.”

  His friend cast him a dubious glance. “What?”

  “I’m done. I’m out. I need to focus on my family. She needs to do what’s best for her.”

  “What’s best for her isn’t being a media whore. You’re what’s best.”

  He shrugged, an uncomfortable prickling running over his skin. He didn’t want to talk about this. He wanted to block her out, paste over the hole in his heart and move on.

  “Can we change the subject, please?”

  Parker fell silent and took to drinking his beer again.

  Garrett jumped when his phone rang, the number unknown. His heart in his throat, he answered, praying it wasn’t the hospital.

  “You left the band?” Angela’s anger was almost palpable.

  He cleared his throat, wishing her voice didn’t have such an effect on him. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t even think you should talk about it with me first?”

  “No. You made it clear how unimportant we are to you.”

  “Unimportant?”

  “Twelve years, Angie.” Parker’s eyebrows rose and he turned to face him as Garrett continued. “I spent twelve years of my life working for the same things you did. I understand the goal. I even understand the tenacity you have. What I don’t understand is how you could throw everything and everyone you hold dear under the bus to get what you want. If that’s what fame turns you in to . . . consider me one of the little people you had to step on.”

  “What’ll you do?” Her voice was resigned, thick with emotion, and it broke his heart.

  “I’ll manage. Maybe take over the store. Right now, I’m focusing on Jamie. Good luck, Angie.”

  He hung up before she could say anything else, before he could give her a chance to convince him to stay with her.

  His words replayed in her head as she slammed the door to her apartment. Angela couldn’t believe they’d both left her. They’d left the band without a word. She wanted to rage, wanted to throw something.

  Her phone rang, but she silenced it before looking at who was calling. She couldn’t deal with anyone at the moment. She’d had no plans to go solo but now she had no choice. There was still a contract to hold up, still a record to finish and release, still performances they’d committed to.

  “Fuck!” she shouted at the empty apartment.

  Her heart stopped when her gaze landed on the table in her entryway and the braided leather bracelet that had been left for her. Picking it up, she fingered the intricate braid, feeling the texture run over her skin. Anger and hurt mixed with grief as she remembered the day she’d given it to him, so long ago. His promise to never take it off rang in her ears, and she fought off the urge to cry.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  Giving in to her anger, she threw the bracelet as hard as she could at the opposite wall. It landed with an unsatisfying clink and she stared it down. Such a small piece of their history with such huge significance. If he’d wanted to hurt her, that had been the quickest way to do it.

  This was his final rejection. His absolute fuck off gesture. If he was giving the bracelet b
ack, he was one-hundred percent done.

  A harsh pounding on her door had her nearly jumping out of her skin.

  “Angela? Baby doll, open up.” Aiden’s voice was laced with concern.

  She opened the door and grimaced at the worry creasing his brow.

  “What do you want?”

  “Marcus just called me. Are you all right?”

  She shook her head.

  “What can I do?”

  What could he do? Not very fucking much.

  She shrugged. “Just don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone. It’s too quiet.”

  He nodded and wrapped an arm around her.

  “How am I going to finish this album without them?”

  She watched him purse his lips and run a hand over his stubble. “Backbeat can get you studio musicians. You’d have to bring in new material though. Marcus won’t want to use anything else that Garrett wrote.”

  “I’ve got lots of stuff I’ve been working on.” Trying to control the wobble in her voice, she plastered a fake smile on her face.

  “Good. Great. So, we get back on the horse and keep going like nothing happened.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sure, I just have to get comfortable enough to bear my soul to people I’ve never met.”

  “Baby doll, you do that every time you sing for an audience.”

  Sighing, she plopped onto the couch and turned on a mindless reality show. “Let’s sit here and rot our brains for a few hours, okay?”

  He grinned and joined her. “Sounds good to me.”

  Chapter 37

  Ten years earlier

  “Crap!” Angela shouted at her own fingers for the third time in the last five minutes.

  She’d spent over an hour trying to make Garrett a friendship bracelet from the thin leather strips she’d picked out at the craft store. Christmas was in two days and she’d taken care of everyone else; a new set of super nice strings for Parker’s bass, new makeup for Valerie, a scarf for her mom, and handmade gifts for her dad and brothers. This was the last gift and it had been the hardest to perfect.