The Vow (Manhattan Nights Book 1)

by Natalie Wrye

I should know. My attackers were casually having sex in my apartment, just doors down, and I was slinking out, tail tucked firmly between my legs, letting them do as they please. Brett and I had had dreams just days ago, and it almost seemed that now that we had found love, we were retreating as if you couldn’t have both, as if you had to sell your soul in exchange for merging with another’s.

  Violet hadn’t lied. This city was tough. But I was tough, too. Stronger than I’d ever been before.

  And I wasn’t folding in the face of adversity. Not anymore. Like so many years ago when Kayla had me face my fears and get on that talent show stage, I was going to confront my new fucked-up (and presently fucking) Becca Hamiltons… and I was going to follow my heart in the process. No matter where it took me. Right now that heart was taking me to Brett, to my forbidden fruit. To one of the best parts of my life that I was once too afraid to have.

  I glance at Kayla, wanting to hold her… and knowing it might be the last thing she needs. Now, she needs another her—the same stubborn, sassy friend that she’d been to me all these years. I owed her for so much. I start to open my mouth to remind her of how strong that friend was—and is, until the sound of steps coming up the staircase stops me, and Heath rounds the corner, huffing and puffing on his way up, the blue-button down on his shoulder soaked from the summer rain outside.

  He halts and stares at us.

  “Holy hell, you’re both here.” He wipes a wet hand through his thick, slickened hair—looking every bit of the blue blood Boy Scout he is. “Elsie, you’d better get down to Brett’s car right now. I caught him behind the wheel, looking ready to break down the building’s front door.”

  “I bet he is,” I answer, trying hard not to smile despite the circumstances. I look over at Kayla, noticing the questions hiding in her oceanic eyes. I sigh. “Kay, I’ve gotta say something…” I resist the urge to pick at my own nails. “Me and your brother have…”

  She interrupts me for the seventieth time, finishing my sentence as always. She grins lightly. “I know, Elles. I’ve known since high school.”

  The tables turn and I find myself shocked instead of her, my pulse leaping into my throat and pounding. I blink fast, my lashes flashing a thousand beats per minute. My lower lip falls open. “You have?”

  “Yeah, I mean, come on…” She chuckles softly. “You’ve never been able to keep a secret from me. Even when you tried.”

  It’s my turn to hang my head, and she reaches towards me, wrapping her slender fingers around my wrist. She pulls lightly. “It’s okay. It always was okay. I just wish you could have given me the chance to tell you that.”

  I grab her hand, interlocking my fingers with hers, and together we smile, feeling the same relief, happy to have found each other. My best friend. My fortune cookie. My family.

  Part of the one I’ve built, not been born with—a fact that, in my case, has made all the difference. A lone tear starts to stream down my face. Heath inhales loudly, letting go of a steady breath. He places his hands on a pair of immaculate slacks fitting on his fit frame, glancing up at us from a lower stair.

  “Alright. Now that we’ve gotten sufficiently awkward… Can we go now? My business partner’s about two seconds from breaking every bone in my body if I don’t get you back to him. I can smell his anger from here.”

  I laugh. “Yeah… I think it’s about time to go anyway.”

  So we do. We head down the rickety steps, bursting into the dreary daylight streaming over the uneven sidewalk when Violet strolls up, a black umbrella over her perfectly coiffed head, a square white box in her manicured hands. Her eyes open wide as she sees the three of us, shooting out of the building’s side door. She stops.

  “Violet?” I blink, trying to clear my vision as rain continues to fall. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” she mimics me, coming closer. “I thought for sure I’d missed you. I brought cookies.” She glances down at the box. “And Taylor Swift. Correction: A Taylor Swift album. I thought you might need some of both before your finalist audition.”

  “Finalist audition?” Kayla’s gaze swings towards me. “That’s today?”

  I exhale. “We’ll talk about it in the car.” I motion towards Violet.

  “Wait…” She watches as Brett’s sleek black BMW pulls up curbside, his dark countenance searing me—even as I stand on the sidewalk. “All of us?” Violet’s voice hits a high note.

  “Yeah, darlin’,” Heath smiles at the vexed redheaded vixen. “All of us.”

  “Where are we going?” Kayla questions.

  “Why, to my audition,” I answer with a wide smile on my face. “And we wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?”

  Chapter 37

  BRETT

  My fingers hover over the throttle and I push my wheels to their fucking max.

  The cloudy skies part, the rain breaking for once, and I cut a path across the city, the five of us in tow, tearing down Seventy-Fourth street as if we own it.

  The bustle of Manhattan plays the background music to our hurried frenzy and as the traffic starts to thicken, the boulevards blocked with the anxious audience filing into see American Superstar’s first round of finals audition, the tension inside the car begins to build with each mile that brings us closer to the packed auditorium. Heath sighs from the middle seat in the back.

  “When I imagined being sandwiched between two beautiful women… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” He glances at Kayla and Violet at his sides.

  Kayla rolls her eyes. “This is not a sandwich, Heath. This is more like a salad. Jumbled. Assorted. And messy.”

  “The only salad I want to be a part of is the tossed type. And even then only on special occasions. With a certain kind of woman, of course.” He smiles innocently at Kayla, flashing a glimpse of his usual playful self. But I watch in the rearview as Violet squirms beside him, the redhead’s face turning as rosy as her strawberry hair, and I resist the urge to chuckle, choosing to ignore the sexual tension stirring in the back seat. Hell, I have my own problems.

  Elsie sits beside me, her eyes bearing a hole in the center of the road. Reaching over, I slide my hand under hers, gripping tightly. She glances at me, brown eyes saucer-like, and I’m seconds from touching her fingertips to the edge of my lips, when a yellow cab cuts in front of me, heading the other way, its headlamp glinting in the sun… and I prepare for impact.

  My wrists lock, my knuckles steeling as they turn white, squeezing around the rounded leather wheel. My heart jumps into my throat.

  Jaw clenching, fists squeezing, I wait for metal to meet metal, turning just as the taxi’s bumper careens right for us, and I hear screams ring out from the back seat. A few horns blare, and I bite down on my bottom lip, almost tearing through the skin.

  And the cab just misses us… barely scraping by, sideswiping us on its way, weaving up the street. A collective sigh of relief reaches my ears, and I exhale in kind, my pulse tap-dancing all over the place. Heath leans forward, clapping his hand on my shoulder and squeezing.

  “Love you, bro. Seriously. But please try not to kill us on the way to this audition. We were almost a stain on the pavement back there.”

  I nod, locking my gaze out of the windshield. “I know. I’m doing everything to avoid these cabs who treat the streets more like a death-match than anything else. Relax,” I order over my shoulder. “I’ll get us there in one piece.”

  “Promise?” Kay calls to the front of the car.

  I look at Elsie. “On Taylor Swift.” And she squeezes my hand.

  With barely twenty minutes to spare, we pull up as close as we can get to the stadium and the street block is practically buzzing with excitement. The air is practically vibrating as I slide the car as close as I can to the curb and order everybody out. My just-panicked passengers file out onto the sidewalk, and I watch intently as Elsie waves a contestant sign from the big purse in her hands to a police officer who points up the street. A few cars honk
and I take off, but not before watching my beautiful blonde running, her best friends and my best friend following in her wake, lagging at her lead.

  I’m grateful for them. To all of them.

  And with fifteen minutes now left to the live audition’s beginning, I park at the closest deck that will take me, nearly throwing money at the attendant. The summer heat still bearing down on my shoulders, I run, tempted to take off my t-shirt and chuck it, my brow nearly slick with sweat as I shoot down the ten long blocks without stopping.

  I’m still wondering how I’m going to slide in the auditorium without a ticket when a guard by one of the double doors stops me as I pass, her eyes moon-like and wide. She covers her mouth, squelching a squeal.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes between her fingers, her collared shirt shaking. “You’re Brett Jackson, aren’t you? From the new show ‘Tattoo Gods’?”

  I breathe heavily, throwing my hands to my hips, trying to inhale, the hard run still sucking the life out of me. I wince, suddenly hating the name of the show. “Uh, guilty?”

  “Holy hell,” the young woman jumps, her gaze whipping back and forth. She leans in closer. “I freaking love you. I’ve watched that ’Tattoo Gods’ trailer twenty times already. I want to be an artist myself.” She clutches her buxom chest. “Even more so,” she blushes, “now that you’re on the show.” She frowns at my worried face. “What’s wrong? You trying to get in the show?”

  “Yeah,” I exhale. “My, uh…” I’m almost surprised at the word I want to use. I say it anyway. “Girlfriend… is a contestant. And I didn’t think to get a ticket when it counted.”

  “No worries.” The security guard whips something from her pocket. “Just take my pass. We’re only allowed a few on hand. I’ve given the rest out. This is my last pass, and I’m just thrilled that it’s going to you.”

  I take it, giving the excited brown-haired guard a grin. I flip the ticket against my palm. “I won’t forget it…”

  “Anna,” she says, answering my unspoken question. I tap her chin, heading towards a set of side double doors, flashing my pass. The heavens part and they actually let me in. Most of the crowd is now in their seats and I search for any empty ones, blinking against the bright blue lights that decorate the surface of the gigantic stage. Suddenly the lights begin to dim, the music kicking in. The audience screams their excitement and I slip into a seat.

  The first contestant steps up to the shouts of thousands.

  One-by-one, the contestants show their talent, each act better than the next. With a crowd of family and friends and personal cheerleaders backstage rooting the performers on, the onlookers lose it as every single contender is criticized or praised. I look at the judging panel, half-expecting to see Reed Hutton on it, but the slick-footed producer of American Superstar is conspicuously missing, a guest critic in his place.

  I lean back in my seat, waiting for Elsie. And it isn’t too long before they show her tiny group of supporters backstage—Heath heading the pack and Violet and Kayla holding hands, each looking on in wonder at the sensation that is Elsie.

  To this day, she still draws awe in my heart, leaving me fucking breathless every time. She’s a miracle made for me. And I’m the luckiest bastard on Earth.

  I watch her enter the stage, taking its well-lit center, her shoulders poised.

  The judges lean forward, anxious for her performance, their eagerness palpable from fifty feet away. My chest grows tight.

  “So,” one of the more famous judges pipes up, “what are you going to thrill us with this evening, Elsie? One of your favorites? Another Taylor Swift song?”

  Elsie grins, her smile suddenly seeming shy. She shifts on her feet. Her curls wild and beautiful, the strands separated, in a simple camisole and shorts, she looks every bit of the understated vixen, relaxed and gorgeous and herself. Flashing that same confidence that I’ve watched her struggle to find, she raises her chin, gazing up at the spotlight, lifting the silver mic to her pink mouth. She speaks into it.

  “Actually, I’m switching it up this time, starting with something different.” She exhales. “In fact, this one is for our infamous judge and contributor, Mr. Reed Hutton.” She stares at the cameras in the crowd. “You’ve pushed me to this place. Made me tough. I dedicate this performance to you and to the city of Manhattan. You’ve both taught me lessons I won’t soon forget.”

  And with that, she lowers the microphone, the music settling in. The lights slowly dim, and Elsie comes alive with the opening crescendo, licking her lips, raising the shiny instrument to her face once more. Her voice is like that of an angel. I’m anchored to the seat.

  The song made famous by Idina Menzel floats from her pretty mouth.

  “Let it go, let it go

  Can't hold it back anymore

  Let it go, let it go

  Turn away and slam the door

  I don't care what they're going to say

  Let the storm rage on

  The cold never bothered me anyway

  It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small

  And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all

  It's time to see what I can do

  To test the limits and break through

  No right, no wrong, no rules for me

  I'm free

  Let it go

  The cold never bothered me anyway

  Let it go, let it go

  And I'll rise like the break of dawn

  Let it go, let it go

  That perfect girl is gone

  Here I stand in the light of day

  Let the storm rage on”

  The lyrics to the song from the Disney hit “Frozen” fill the stadium. Speechless, the crowd looks on in complete shock… me with them. The atmosphere shimmers with the sparkle of Elsie’s liquid gold voice, and every ounce of air is sucked from my lungs. I say nothing as Elsie finishes the song with flourish, her head tilted to the sky. She raises the mic above her head, and the mob of television fans roars their approval, standing to their feet.

  She did it. I know she did.

  My Elsie is the next American Superstar, and I’m grateful to say I’ve been her first fan. I can only hope that I can show her my adoration for the rest of our lives. My sweet sexy Elsie.

  Belonging to me. Belonging to the world. And all without breaking her soul in New York City to see it through.

  I clap harder than anyone else in the crowd.

  Epilogue

  ELSIE

  “Alright!” Kayla shouts out loud. “One more tequila shot then we have to go,” she stresses. “Any more than that, and I’ll be on my way to shit-faced town. My makeup has an expiration date, and that bartender out there is too cute for my clothes to stay on when I’m on drunk.”

  I smile, applying another layer of red lipstick. I cap it quickly. “I believe you.” I run a few fingers through my loosely-waved hair, staring into the gigantic mirror. I glance at Kayla in the glass. “I mean, do you remember that high school grad party at Shelly Weller’s?”

  “Shit, I’m still trying to forget. My nipples almost frosted over. Note to self: Bring a bra if you’re going to go shirtless.”

  “Or maybe don’t go shirtless,” I reply. “Just an idea.”

  “Says the woman sleeping with the second hottest guy in here.” My best friend in the world smirks, turning towards me, her pink lips wide as they spread. “I might think he’s annoying as hell, but I’m not blind. I know my older brother is smoking hot. Even though he bugs the shit out of me.”

  “And you’re giving that bartender the top coveted hot slot?”

  “Depends on how well he can unhook a bra clasp. Just my luck that I’m wearing one tonight.”

  I laugh. “Most guys can unhook a bra clasp pretty successfully.”

  Kayla grins again. “I meant with his teeth.” Her almond brown hair bone straight, she twirls in the mirror in her little black dress, smearing the edge of her smoky eye just as sexily-dressed
Violet bursts into the bathroom door, her red dress hugging every curve tight.

  “Are you bitches taking a trip to the moon?” she groans jokingly. “We can’t start the party without our lovely guest of honor on the floor.”

  Kayla shoots a look at me. “Guess that’s you.” She smacks my silver, silk-covered butt. “You heard what the lady said. ‘Onto the floor’.”

  I dodge Violet’s deft fingers, which poke in the middle of my stomach urging me on. I open the bathroom door of the same Irish pub where Vi and I “met,” peering over the edge slowly. I notice the long line that’s formed outside, my pulse planting itself in my throat and sticking there.

  I glance back at Violet. “Remind me again of who’s on the guest list.”

  Violet taps the bottom of her red lip, humming. “Hmm… let’s see. A couple of locals. A celebrity here and there. Oh, yeah… and all of Manhattan.”

  “You didn’t…” I gape at her.

  “No,” she emphasizes. “But Heath did. And Marilyn. Besides, it’s not every day that the local pub patron wins American Superstar,” she gushes, grinning. “Don’t worry. We’ve kept the guest list under a million. You know, just so we don’t get too overcrowded.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Gee thanks.” I nudge her with my bare shoulder. “Just don’t want any unwelcome guests showing up.”

  “Like my father?” Kayla cuts in, her tone curt. She snorts. “It’s official. He’s out of prison. Made the five millions dollar bail. I don’t know how. When Brett told me what happened between them, Heath held onto the money I’d asked to bail dad out. Mom won’t even tell me what’s going on now.” She sighs. “I still have to grab details from the news, and even those are sketchy at best. I just hope he doesn’t try to reach back out like he did last month.”

  I rub her back. “With you and Brett becoming so close again, I don’t think he will. We’d have a better chance of seeing Reed Hutton here.” I roll my eyes emphatically.

  “Yeah,” Violet chimes in. “I heard about him checking into the Rosegold Health center. I just hope he took Sophie with him. From what you told me, it seems like they both needed the break from the nose candy.”