Jaded Hearts (Loaded Replay #1)

by Harper Sloan

  I hear a phone ring, pulling my mind from a darkness I don’t like to think about envelope me.

  “What?” Weston’s sharpness has the conversation with Luke and Jamison halting and Wren turning in her seat to look in the back row at her brother.

  I use the time to study her face. She doesn’t look mad. Instead, she appears a little sad.

  “Fuck you, Dix. I told you that you had no control over that.”

  I twist and hold my hand for the phone. I created this mess so I might as well handle it for him. Weston shakes his head and ignores me. Pulling my arm back, I wait to see what’s said next.

  “So what if she is? There isn’t shit you or Brighthouse can do about it.”

  Wren shifts, and her movement makes the most delicate scent waft into my nose. I know she doesn’t wear perfume, having scanned the bathroom back at the concert venue before I left her clothes in there, and I’ve been with her every second since, so whatever the aroma is all her and the most mouthwatering thing I’ve ever smelled.

  “No. No fucking way. Wren isn’t going to make a public statement denying anything.” He holds his finger up, requesting silence before pulling his phone away from his ear and pressing the speaker button to fill the space with one irate voice.

  “… run this shit. There will be no relationships, for any of you, but especially not her. Brighthouse still owns you, and when they say you’ll stay single, you’d better fucking do it. Issue the statement and then make an appointment somewhere discreet to take care of that problem.”

  The fury that fills the air when Dix finishes speaking is almost tangible.

  “Did you seriously just demand that my sister abort her child?”

  “I did, and she will. You will not have a child fucking this up.”

  “Fucking this up?” Wes echoes.

  “It’s my job to make sure you four do what Brighthouse wants, and what they want is that baby gone, the marriage taken care of, and all traces of it disappearing. Get that motherfucker away from my band and clean up this mess, Weston. Or else.”

  Silence.

  It doesn’t even matter that the child he’s demanding be ‘taken care of’ isn’t a reality. It doesn’t matter there is no marriage to end—hell, not even a relationship. None of that matters right now because this man has just made it very fucking clear that no one in charge of Loaded Replay’s career even gives a fuck about them besides what their music can do for their bank accounts.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Luke bitterly says.

  “No, I have all the nerve. I’m the one who is going to make sure that you continue to stay on top. It damn sure won’t be you fuck-ups if this latest news is any indication. You’re still under contract with them to finish this tour. Just because you’ve finished the album requirements doesn’t mean you can do what you want. I’ve already talked to Howard, and he’s going to bring this back up as an add-in with your renegotiations.”

  “Hey Dix,” Wren says softly.

  “What do you want?”

  “Do me a favor, will ya?” she continues, ignoring his attitude.

  “I’m not doing shit for you until you fix this problem that you’ve created.”

  She looks from the phone, meeting the eyes of all three men sitting in the back of the SUV and silently communicating her thoughts before the deep blue orbs hit my face. She gives me a smile, one that goes a long way in unraveling the tangle of unpleasantness in my gut.

  “Okay, Dix. How about this then. You can let Howard know that I don’t give a shit if he’s the president of Brighthouse because right now, you’ve just screwed them out of even the chance of us re-signing. How about you let Howard know that our lawyer will be in touch. As for you, well … you can consider yourself fired. You might be employed as our manager, but that was only because we didn’t know any better when we signed and picked you up through our contract with Brighthouse—one that ended when we finished Black Lace. We have no need for you to see us through the rest of our obligations because after the tour, we’re gone. Consider our relationship severed. Problem solved. Also—and hear this clearly, please—myself, Loaded Replay—our band, not your band—my husband, and our child are no longer something you need to concern yourself with. Have a nice life, asshole.”

  She reaches over the seat and jabs her tiny finger against her brother’s phone, the silence only lasting a second before Weston’s phone rings again. He ends the call before powering off his phone, looking at his sister like he can’t decide if he should be proud or shocked.

  “You do know that we aren’t married, right?” I ask in an attempt to ease some of the tension.

  She whips her head around, her red hair swishing over her shoulder. “Yeah, and you haven’t knocked me up yet.”

  “That won’t be happening,” I remind her.

  “Well, not the knocking me up part. We can practice for that, though.”

  “Uh, Wren,” Jamison butts in, ending our weird-as-fuck verbal foreplay.

  “Yup?” she answers him, but her attention stays on me.

  “Did you just fire our manager?”

  The twinkle in her eyes sparks. “Well, yeah,” she answers, looking back at him. “I think I did. Would you rather have me break up my marriage and lose my love child?”

  “Both of which aren’t even a reality,” Weston reminds her.

  “Po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes.” She sighs dramatically.

  “Oh, nope … not even the same thing there.”

  “What is Brighthouse going to say about what just happened?” When I ask the question, I notice all of them look uneasy.

  “They own us through this tour, but even if they didn’t, we would finish our commitments. When we signed on almost five years ago, our contract stated that we would provide Brighthouse with two albums. We did that and re-upped with them for three more when those first two albums were such a huge success. We didn’t know what we know now about the business then. It had only been eighteen months after signing the first contract when we signed the current one.” Wes looks at Luke before continuing. “We’ve been lucky. Most artists end up in the negatives once advances and everything else they take out of our cut from the profits is said and done, but we’ve never been like that. We don’t need them, and most importantly, because of how well our albums have always sold, we don’t owe them. They have nothing to hold over our head when we tell them we won’t be re-signing with them. I guess we can thank you, bro-in-law, for making us realize what it was past time to do,” Weston jokes, but I have a feeling that they are more concerned about losing their representation than they’re letting on.

  “Why were they so eager to get you back in the studio if you don’t even have a contract for further albums yet?”

  Wren makes a noise that sounds like some weird laugh turned snort, drawing my attention. “That, hubby, is because they know time is money and they assumed us re-signing was a done deal.”

  “Okay.” I rub the back of my neck, ignoring her new nickname for me. “Look, I know next to nothing about this industry, but can you really continue without being signed to a major label?”

  “Brighthouse wasn’t a major label until they signed us. Could we continue to produce albums, sure … but it would be a whole fucking lot easier if we had the backing of a label. They handled everything from studio time to tour details. Dix, someone we picked up because we knew we needed a manager when we signed, was with Brighthouse. He worked as our booking agent as well, so losing the label and him means we have a whole lot of nothing but ourselves and our music,” Weston explains.

  “So what do we do now?” Jamison chimes in, sounding just as overwhelmed as I feel.

  “Now, we decide if we want to do this alone or start looking for new representation. We have the funds to do it ourselves, but that would mean our focus is taken from what we want to be doing, which is making music,” Wes clarifies, not breaking eye contact with his sister. “The good news is we don’t have to decide right now. We get
two weeks before Vegas, so I say we spend that time enjoying the break we’ve needed for a long time. We pick things back up in Vegas, finish the last few weeks of shows, and then sit down and decide how we want our future to go. Wren and I will call Don and get him on the legal end of breaking our ties to Brighthouse. In the meantime, let’s try to remember what it feels like to relax.”

  “Don?” I ponder out loud.

  “Our lawyer,” Wren responds with a wink.

  I nod and turn back around in my seat. There isn’t much to see; traffic is already ridiculous here even in the early morning hours. The driver ignores us; his eyes focused on the road ahead of us. I take a few seconds to study my surroundings, making sure to test the air around me for any unease I might feel. Shockingly, even with the future of Loaded Replay very much unknown, all four members seem almost relieved.

  All I can do is follow their lead when it comes to their label—or I guess former label—and do what I’m here to do, which is to protect the woman beside me. The one who is doing one hell of a job at burrowing herself under my skin, whether I want her there or not.

  When the driver pulls off Sunset Boulevard, and we officially enter the Bird Streets area, I try to see things through the eyes of someone who has never been a part of our crazy little world. We pass a few of the famously named bird-themed streets on our way to our own, and I smile, thinking about how much fun I used to have just walking around and listing the street names. It’s been so long since I did that, and I had forgotten how much I loved that downtime activity, no matter how bizarre it might have been.

  The ‘elite’ area of the Bird Streets neighborhoods was the first place our realtor took us when we decided we wanted to make LA our forever home. We had been living in a tiny piece-of-shit apartment when we first came to town, but a year after our second album blew up, we knew it was time for something more permanent. Even if we were rarely home to enjoy it.

  “You all live together, right?” Chance muses; his head turned while he takes in the landscape around us.

  “Yeah. We have for the past eight years, ever since we left home and hit the road. We’re probably one big contradiction to the rule that says you shouldn’t work and live with your family without killing them,” I quip.

  “I’ve done the roommate thing, and it wasn’t a hardship.” My eyes widen, momentarily taken aback that he’s actually speaking, let alone telling me something about himself.

  He looks over when my silence ticks on. “What?”

  “That’s the most personal thing you’ve told me since you showed up in New York last week.”

  He shrugs, turning to look back out his window.

  I turn, seeing the driveway that I know leads to the home of one of the most famous actresses around. “Why did you stop doing the roommate thing?” I feel stupid, but with an opening like that, I figure I might as well see if I can find out more about this man.

  “He got married and moved into a house with his wife.”

  “Oh.” I rack my brain to think of another way to keep this conversation going, but his body language isn’t exactly screaming that he’s open to continuing.

  “You guys still good friends?”

  “I served with him overseas, lived with him back home for a few years, and I still talk to him on the phone more often than should be normal for two dudes.”

  I can sense the smile in his words, betraying his annoyance.

  “You should see if he and his wife want to come out to one of our shows before the tour ends.” I sound needy. Like a teenage girl trying to get her first crush to talk to her. I should shut up. I really should. But fuck … he’s actually talking.

  “I doubt that’s going to happen. Cohen and Dani have two small boys, so getting time to fly across the country isn’t the easiest. Plus, I think filming picked back up for Dani.”

  “Filming?” I probe.

  He turns and looks at me with a sigh. “She works at a salon in town, and they film a reality show there.”

  My eyes widen. “Holy shit! The Dani from Sway’s All the Way?” He jerks his head back when I all but scream my excitement at him. “I watch every episode of that show. I remember a few seasons back when they made a huge fuss about her relationship and pregnancy. Wait a minute. You’re best friend is him?” I gasp, reaching out to grab his arm and shake it rapidly.

  “Shit, you’ve done it now,” my brother mumbles from his seat in the back.

  “Oh, my God! I love them. I had really hoped that their story wasn’t just something made up for viewers. It isn’t, right?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You have no idea how cool this is! Dyllan is going to shit herself. We usually watch the show together, and it’s going to be so much better knowing that they’re really in a relationship.”

  “Do you want to ease up on my arm?”

  It takes me a second to register his meaning, but when I look at my hands and see them still shaking his arm, I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Sorry about that. I got a little excited.”

  “That was a little excited?”

  I give him a heated look, but it only lasts for a second when I see him looking at me with a smile. It isn’t as big as it was last night on the plane, but those white teeth are peeking out, and just like the first time I saw him smile, I resort to brain-dead status.

  “You look fucking weird, Wren,” Jamison exclaims, his hand reaching over from the back to poke at my shoulder.

  Chance’s smile cranks up a few notches, his eyes crinkling at the sides. It makes me wonder if he actually smiles often when he’s around his friends. Or maybe he used to smile a lot.

  “Is she drooling?” Luke butts in; he sounds like he shifted in his seat to get closer.

  “Stop doing that,” I hiss at Chance.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “It’s just not right for you to have that much power,” I inform him.

  “What is she talking about?” Jamison questions.

  “Still not doing anything,” Chance tells me, ignoring Jami.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Jamison yells, his hand coming into view as he waves it in front of my face.

  Blinking a few times, I twist my neck to look at Jamison with a scowl. “What?”

  “Phew.” He sighs, falling back against his seat. “For a second there, I thought we had lost you. I figured you wouldn’t want everyone to know what your O face looks like. You looked like you were about to eat Chance here for breakfast.”

  “I was not about to O face anyone,” I sputter.

  “You so were,” Luke confirms, siding with Jamison.

  “Can we not talk about this?” Wes complains.

  “Yes, we can not talk about this. Great idea, Wes. Oh look, there’s our street.” I turn toward my window so fast that I almost crack my forehead against the tinted window. I thrust my hand out, pointing at the road sign to announce our turn on Swallow Drive.

  “You live on a street called Swallow Drive?” I can hear the teasing in Chance’s question, and I swear that’s the only reason I open my mouth and further embarrass myself.

  “Yup. It called to me when we were house hunting. You know, because I love to swallow.”

  That stupid, brain-killing smile is back; only this time, a deep and manly laugh accompanies it. And let me tell you—if his smile was enough to kill my ability to think, the sound of his laughter is enough to turn that dead brain into a pile of mush.

  Holy. Shit.

  Two minutes later, the driver parks in front of our house, and I rush out and around the SUV in seconds. My goal had been to get inside and lock myself in my room, but Chance hooks me with a hand to my elbow, stopping my movement.

  “Let me check the house,” he demands.

  My brow furrows. “Seriously? Is that necessary?”

  His eyes are still smiling when his very serious tone answers me. “When it comes to keeping you safe, yeah. I’m finding I like you, Wren. Let me do my job so I can keep on liking you.”r />
  “You like me?”

  His hand comes up, and one long finger brushes the skin between my eyes, all the way down to the tip of my nose, before disappearing from my line of sight with a soft tap. Then he turns, and I watch him walk up to the huge black door. With quick and efficient movements that betray the fact he’s never once set foot on our property, he unlocks and disarms the keypad, and before I can blink, he’s inside.

  “What happened back there between you two?” Weston quietly questions, stepping in front of me and blocking my view of our house, giving a lift of his chin in the direction of the SUV.

  I let out a dramatic rush of air. “Oh, big brother.” I sigh. “That man has no idea what he does to me.”

  Weston’s quiet for a beat while he ponders what I mean. “And that is?” he continues his questioning, albeit hesitantly now. It’s almost as if he doesn’t really want to know, but being the protective big brother that is he, he feels like he has to ask.

  “Makes me deliriously stupid with need.”

  “I knew this would happen!” Jamison yells, his fist going up in the air before pointing at Wes. “You owe me five hundred bucks, fucker.”

  “Shit,” Wes hisses, his eyes looking from me, to Jamison, to the house, and then back at me. “Shit!”

  “Let me get this straight,” Dyllan slurs. With her wine glass pointing at me, I wonder if she’s about to slosh some of the delicious red we’ve been drinking for the last two hours all over my brand-new white loungers. “The man who you’ve known for a week is your not husband is now the featured story with every entertainment show, tabloid, and Internet celebrity blogger for getting you not pregnant with your not firstborn. You may or may not be renewing your nonexistent vows when you show up in Vegas. Oh, you also fired your manager this morning and told your label to fuck off at the same time … all of this in one day?”

  I take a heavy sip, enjoying the way the wine’s flavors burst over my taste buds. “That about sums it up. Wait, you forgot the fact that I almost dry humped him in front of four strangers on the flight. And that his kisses could make a dead person orgasm. Annnnd that his smile alone is probably all it would take for me.”