Wild Harts: Rockstar Shifters Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  He was still trying to figure out the menu when the waiter appeared, a bottle of red in one hand and a crisp white napkin draped over his arm.

  “Compliments of the head sommelier,” the waiter said, turning the bottle to show off the label.

  Emily caught Chase’s eye and grinned. He had no idea what she was smiling about. She leaned close and whispered, “The vineyard name is ‘heart’ in Spanish.”

  The waiter curved one side of his mouth up in a smile. “We thought it might be apropos.”

  Chase nodded and sampled the wine—wine had never quite been his poison, but it was delicious. It tasted a bit like the forest smelled.

  But though the wine was good, it didn’t help loosen the stiffness in his neck or the uncertainty of his place. Emily kept glancing at him, like she was checking to make sure he wasn’t going to jump up and run. They’d just finished the appetizer when the waiter reappeared to take their main course orders.

  Emily glanced over the menu, then back to Chase, frowning. Then a sly smile spread across her face.

  “Actually, I think we’re going to just get the check.”

  Chase’s eyebrows flew up, but Emily grabbed his hand over the table. She reassured the waiter they’d enjoyed everything—especially the avocado foam crudité—then grinned wickedly after the waiter left.

  “I have something in mind. You’re not the only one with surprises.”

  Outside, Emily slid her arm through Chase’s and led him down the narrow streets of Lower Manhattan. They wound their way into the East Village, and Emily tugged Chase to a stop in front of a worn green storefront that proclaimed McSorley’s Old Ale House.

  Chase raised an eyebrow. “I can’t picture you stepping foot in a place like this.”

  Emily shrugged, still grinning. “You know, no women were admitted until the courts made them in the ‘70s, but my friends and I liked to come here when we were on break from school. It feels about as far from the Upper East Side as you can get.”

  Inside, the place was dark, and there was sawdust scattered on the floor. It felt instantly homey, like he was an old friend showing up to a party. At one end of the long, narrow space, two old men sat on a little stage singing Irish drinking songs to the raucous crowd. Emily slid into a creaking wooden booth and lifted two fingers toward the bartender.

  “Dark or light?” he called.

  “Light,” she called back. “There are only two kinds of beer here,” she explained to Chase.

  They came soon enough, and Chase lifted his glass to Emily’s in a silent toast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emily

  EMILY FELT A LITTLE DRUNK. Or, maybe make that a lot drunk. It was nice, letting loose every once in a while. It was especially nice because Chase was the sober one.

  One of the old men picked up his fiddle, and Emily cheered. She’d been singing along with the drinking songs—louder and louder—for the past hour.

  “You should go play with them,” Emily said, nudging Chase under the table with the toe of her high heel.

  Chase raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on! It’d be fun!”

  Chase grimaced, but it turned into a laugh. “Emily St. Clair, you are a fun drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk!”

  “Darling, that is a lie.”

  Emily stuck her tongue out, a devious plan forming in her mind. She tottered to her feet and made her way to the little stage.

  “Excuse me,” she called out. She pointed at the hand drum leaning against the second stool. “Can my boyfriend come play with you? He’s a famous rockstar.”

  The little old man pushed the brim of his cap back, stared at Emily for a second, then shrugged. “Why the hell not.” Then he looked out over the crowd. “Famous rockstar! Get your ass up here.”

  Emily giggled as Chase—cheeks red—shouldered through the crowd toward the stage. He stopped at Emily and leaned close, growling into her ear.

  “Don’t think I’ll forget about this,” he said, before playfully slapping her ass.

  Emily backed up against the bar and watched as Chase conferred with the old man, then took his place on the stool with the hand drum. He rested his palm against the drum for a moment, then peered out into the crowd.

  “This is an old song my mom used to sing to me and my brothers,” he said, then started playing.

  It was soft and haunting, a beautiful lullaby in a minor key that sent shivers along Emily’s skin. Emily could barely move, like she was pinned down by the music. She was entranced by the song, by Chase, by the muted love she could hear in his voice. Behind her, she heard a few sniffles.

  Then, as quietly as the song had begun, it ended. The bar was silent.

  “Sorry about that,” Chase said with a guilty laugh. “Here’s something to bring the mood back up.” And then he and the old man tripped into a rousing Irish drinking song that soon had the entire place slamming their fists and glasses on the tables.

  Emily, though, couldn’t look away from Chase. Her love, her soulmate.

  After the song ended, Chase hopped down from the stage to cheers and grabbed Emily. “Let’s go home,” he whispered in her ear.

  It was a long walk, but it was one of those autumn nights that just felt perfect—crisp and clean. They picked up hot dogs from a cart and slowly wandered north toward Emily’s apartment south of the Queensboro Bridge. Emily was clutching both her hot dog and Chase, alternating bites of the food and singing snippets of songs from the pub.

  She knocked into someone facing the other way. “Oh, sor—”

  Her apology died in her throat. It was Everly, and Asher was right next to her.

  Emily stumbled backward into Chase, her eyes skittering between her ex and his new girlfriend. They were dressed to kill and were stepping out of the Waldorf-Astoria.

  “Emily!” Everly cooed, her perfectly made-up face smiling. “How are you?”

  “I ….”

  Next to Everly, Asher stared at Emily like she was scum.

  “Christ, Em,” Asher said, his tone purposely bored. He let his gaze slowly move up from her feet to her hair. “I certainly seemed to have dodged a bullet.”

  Emily straightened up, but that just made the world spin harder. She tipped into Chase and held tight to her half-eaten hot dog.

  “Asher,” Everly admonished. She turned back to Emily. “We were just at Kiki Waterhouse’s charity event. Where are you two coming from?”

  At her side, Chase’s hand curled around Emily waist and held her steady. “She dragged me to McSorley’s.”

  Asher’s lip curled. “Do they still cover the shit on their floors with sawdust?”

  Chase’s fingers tightened. “Em here sang up a storm,” he said. “And now we can’t wait to get home.”

  Asher’s features went very still, his face draining of color. He recovered after a moment to say, “Yes, well, we’re going to an exclusive event at the yacht club. Drake McMannis is hosting.”

  Emily just stared. How was she with this entitled asshole for so long? How had she lasted more than five minutes without wanting to run away screaming?

  Everly was welcome to him.

  Chase, though, had gone rigid. “Christ, you’re really god-awful, aren’t you,” he said.

  Asher spluttered.

  In the split second before Chase moved, Emily could feel his muscles tighten, could feel the intention. Then he shoved his mustard-and-ketchup hotdog into Asher’s white shirt.

  Emily gasped, and Chase tugged her away as Asher practically shrieked in anger behind them. But he was soon drowned out by their laughter.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chase

  EMILY DRAPED HER BARE LEGS over Chase’s lap, their bodies nestled deep in the confines of his Brooklyn apartment’s leather couch. Chase had his head leaned back against the couch, headphones over his ears and the beats from the new album pulsing through him.

  It was a rough cut, but Chase liked listening to
it on repeat, to really let the vibe of the album imbue him. He drummed his fingers against Emily’s shins in time to the beat on what was slated to be their new single, “A Love So Deep.”

  Bret had given Jax shit for the lyrics, for their depictions of true, eternal love. And Chase had been inclined to agree with his brother. But now that he’d found Emily, the lyrics took on a new meaning, a deeper meaning.

  Chase inched one eye open and gazed at his love. She was cozy in a faded old Harvard hoodie, her hair in a ponytail and her face bare. She was propped up on pillows with her laptop open as she worked on her pitch to Nina Marten, the notoriously finicky music journalist. He smiled to watch Emily bob her head slightly in time with the beat he drummed on her legs.

  Then the most beautiful smile split her face wide and she snapped her head up. Chase slipped his headphones down to his neck with an eyebrow crooked.

  “I’ve got it!” Emily pulled her legs from Chase’s lap and sat cross-legged on the couch.

  It gave him a glorious view to her black panties, and he felt a shoot of desire curl through him, but instead he focused on Emily. She grinned at him, then pushed forward onto her hands to plant a quick kiss against his lips.

  “Chase Hart, thank you!”

  Chase laughed. “For what?”

  Emily drummed her fingers against his bicep, bobbing her head in time to the music still pumping softly from his headphones. “For the inspiration. My pitch to Nina was just so formal, but I think I found my missing groove to the pitch.”

  “Can I read it?” Chase was already tugging the laptop into his arms, and his eyes flew over the email as Emily squirmed beside him.

  “Well?”

  It was … perfect. The pitch to Nina focused on the rebirth of Wild Harts through doubling down on their connections—both to each other and to the women who completed them. It was pitched to be a personal, thoughtful look at a band who had nearly lost its way. She’s also attached an audio file of their upcoming single.

  Chase’s eyes were bright when he focused on Emily. “Em, it’s perfect.”

  “Really?” Emily was wringing her hands together. Chase reached over and calmed them.

  “Yes, really. Are you going to send it now?”

  “Yes! Wait, no!” Emily snatched her laptop back and read the pitch through one last time, then she pressed her lips together, screwed up her expression, and hit send.

  Emily met Chase’s loving gaze. “You think Bret will be fine with it? He’s been the most reluctant about the new sound.”

  Chase barked out a laugh. “Reluctant? That’s a nice way to say shitty. Bret will warm to it. Honestly, I think he’s just pissed that Jax wrote the majority of the new stuff. But truly, Em, I love this new album. Jax found a new depth to the band that I didn’t think was there.”

  Emily curled up against Chase’s body, her head nestled against his shoulder. “I guess you’ll find out if it’s working tonight.”

  Chase glanced at the clock. They had to leave for the small Brooklyn club in an old vaudeville theater in two hours. He traced his fingers up Emily leg, inching his way toward her panties. Two hours was plenty of time to sate his desire for her … at least for now.

  On the coffee table, Emily’s phone buzzed. She mewled in disappointment, but reached for her phone. Chase watched the disappointment on her face turn to confusion.

  “It’s my manager, Sven. He wants to see me in his office.”

  “At six-thirty on a Friday?”

  Emily was already standing, looking around for her overnight bag of clothes. “Sorry, Chase. I can’t say no. There’s too much going on right now.”

  Chase watched, deflated, as she tugged on some black jeans and replaced the soft Harvard hoodie with a patterned blouse. It’d only been a few days since he’d revealed his bear side to her, but already he felt like a part of himself was missing when she wasn’t around.

  “It should be quick,” Emily said as she tousled her blond hair out of the ponytail and stepped into gray booties. “I’ll meet you at the show.”

  Then with another quick kiss, she was gone.

  House music pumped through the tiny backstage area. Beyond the stage, Chase knew a crowd surged to the music, antsy and alive with anticipation. Emily had planned the whole thing perfectly, and people were streaming into the small venue, jumping at the chance to hear the latest from Wild Harts.

  Chase twirled drumsticks between his fingers, pausing in the movement every few minutes to tap out a beat from one of the set list against his thigh. Nerves were an electric current in him, and when he looked at his brothers, he could see their own anxieties written in their features. Everyone except Drew.

  Chase peered past Jax and Tiff, their heads bent together, past Bret, who was pacing, to find Drew deep in the wings, his ear pressed to a phone. Frowning, Chase walked over to him.

  “Yeah, Mac,” he was saying. “I get it. But I’m telling you, now is not a good time.”

  A sigh, a pause, then, “I don’t know when it’ll be a good time. You just … the clans trust you, why can’t you just—” Drew stopped talking, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw Chase hovering nearby. He ended the call quickly.

  “Is he trying to get you to go back?”

  Drew shared a look with Chase, then nodded. “I don’t know for how long. Just to sort out everything with Dad being exiled and the stuff with the Swanns ….”

  “Do you need me to come with you?” Chase didn’t feel like dealing with the ramifications of his father, but he didn’t want to send his brother to do it alone.

  Drew clapped Chase on the shoulder and shook his head. “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ve got a show to play.”

  And they did. Nerves sparked anew in Chase’s body. Normally, he’d psych himself up by drinking, but he didn’t like the man he became when he traveled down that path.

  Chase and Drew joined Jax and Bret, their circle tight. This was their ritual, and it helped Chase to look at each of his brothers and know they were in this together. Drew started the low, guttural chant, followed by Chase, then Jax, then Bret. The chant pumped through him, cleansed the anxiety from his blood and brain.

  Then they filed out on stage. Chase went last, still waiting for Emily. She’d promised she’d be here. He searched through the people in the wings, but she still hadn’t arrived. Finally, his phone buzzed. It was a quick text from Emily saying something had come up, but wishing him luck.

  Chase pushed down a pang of worry, and walked out onto the stage to a roar from the crowd. Adrenaline surged through him at the sound, at the thought of all these people coming to see him. And he was going to give them a good time. He couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face as he settled behind the drum kit and twirled his sticks again.

  Just a handful of weeks ago, he hadn’t wanted to play this song, it’d reminded him too much of old memories. But now, it seemed to mean more. He looked forward to a time when he could play these traditional songs around a bonfire with his own children. Because of Emily, this debut single—the entire album—had gained a deeper meaning.

  The stage was bathed in low light, a shimmering blue spotlight that only illuminated Chase at his drum kit. Beyond the stage, the wall-to-wall crowd was hushed with anticipation. Chase lifted the traditional Irish bodhrán drum and rested it on his thigh.

  For a split second before he started playing, he could feel the beat inside his body, like it was a part of him that was just waiting to spill out. The rhythm pulsed through his chest, his arms, then rolled out of his hands. It was low and haunting, the sort of brushing, muted beat that started slow until it thrummed in every cell of his body.

  After one cycle of the rhythm, Drew joined in on his fiddle. The lilting fiddle changed the sound of the drum, made it a bit faster. Chase leaned in to his microphone and sang the opening bars of “A Love So Deep” in harmony with his brothers—and goose bumps erupted across his skin.

  Their first album had been driving and loud, a wall of
sound. This new music was just as driving, but it had traded loud for intricate rhythms and deeper layers. Chase thrilled at the way the music took hold—of both him and the audience. This new, more mature music just felt so right.

  Chase increased the beat, building the song to a soaring crescendo that cut off abruptly right when it seemed it could go no higher. There was a pregnant pause from the audience, then they went wild.

  That right there made all the struggle of the last months worth it—facing his demons, the delays in writing, overcoming his own issues to find true happiness with Emily. Suddenly, Chase wanted to play all night, unbridled joy infusing his entire body.

  And most of all, he wanted to share that joy with Emily.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily

  “ASHER?”

  EMILY NEARLY RAN INTO him. She was so startled to see him outside the Epoch offices that it took her a second to react.

  Asher had a little smile playing about his lips, and he looked down his nose at Emily. “Headed in to see your boss?”

  “Yeah, I ….” Emily stopped, cocked her head. “How did you know?”

  The smile grew on Asher’s face, and Emily had the sudden desire to slap it off. The Epoch offices were in SoHo, and the street was busy with pedestrians and traffic. Emily took a step closer to Asher, her voice low and tight.

  “What did you do, Asher?”

  God, he was eating this up. His smug face was twisted in delight, and the way he shrugged made Emily want to scream in frustration.

  “I just think you better talk to Sven. He and Drake McMannis had quite the conversation, from what I heard. I was only too happy to come in and chat with him about your work.”

  Fury jittered through Emily, making her fingers go tingly and her stomach clench. “My work, Asher, is none of your damn business. Sven has been happy with my performance, and if you did something to change that ….”