by Harper Sloan
“I’ll go call Hunter.” I nod and walk from the front living room area of their tour bus to the back lounge area in the rear.
I hear them talking, low murmurs full of worry about what they’re walking into, and wait for Hunter to pick up. I have a feeling calling what we will be dealing with a madhouse is like calling a gunshot wound a paper cut.
“Yeah,” Hunter answers.
“You in LA yet?”
“We got here early this morning.”
I sigh. “How are things looking around there?”
“Normal. The house was secure when we checked it out on our way in a few hours ago.”
“Do me a favor, Hunter. Head over there again and check on things. News got out about them not signing with the label again, so we need to be proactive with what is probably going to rain down on them. After that, meet us at the venue.”
“Got it,” Hunter confirms, disconnecting without pleasantries.
I’ve been waiting for Brighthouse to make a move. I knew they wouldn’t let this go without a fight. I have to hand it to them; if what Wes says is true, they’re smarter than I ever pegged them for. My gut has been telling me something is coming for a while now, but with this new bullshit, it’s kicked up into overdrive. There haven’t been any signs that the pictures and note that brought me here were something more nefarious. For the most part, everything points to it just being some fucked-up, isolated incident, but try as I might, I haven’t been able to believe that’s the case in all the time I’ve been here.
Making a split decision, I pick up the phone and make a call to someone who can lend a helping hand as a sounding board.
“Well, well … I was starting to think we would never hear from you again.”
I smile, despite my unease. “Shut the hell up, Cohen,” I gruff with fake annoyance.
“Dani won’t shut the hell up about you and your girl. From how she tells it, you’ve been in love with her since some concert back during my last tour.”
I huff out a laugh. “She’s probably not wrong.”
“No shit?” he asks.
“No shit. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do if it meant a smile stayed on Wren’s face.” It feels good to tell Cohen about Wren. We’ve known each other for years now; we’ve served together, lived together—but with everything that happened with Dani before Owen was born, I pulled away. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his friendship.
“I’m happy for you, man. You deserve to have that.”
“Thanks,” I respond, my voice thick with emotion.
“There for a while, I was worried you would push it away when you did find it, though.”
“Cohen,” I grunt, not wanting him to go down this road. Wren might have shown me the flaws in how I believed my role in his wife almost dying played out, but that doesn’t mean I want to hash it out with him.
“Just tell me; have you finally realized you wrongly carried that burden all these years? I’ll drop it, but I just need to know where your head is now that you’ve got what I have with Dani.”
I look out the back window of the bus, seeing nothing even though the scenery flying by is far from unpleasant to look at.
“Wren helped me get there,” I tell him with a deep exhale. “She’s my healer, man. Anything that used to eat at me—she healed those wounds, and when she gave me her love, she eradicated any possibility that something might have lingered to come back later.”
He doesn’t speak right away. I hear him moving some papers around, and I picture him sitting in his office at Corps Security, knowing he’s probably thinking about that day he almost lost everything while looking at the picture he always keeps on his desk of his family.
“Dani will be as happy as I am to hear that.” He does a good job at hiding it, but his voice wavers slightly, and I know I’m not alone in feeling the slight burn of emotion in my throat.
“Now that we got girl talk out of the way,” I jest, lightening the mood. “You got a second to let me run something by you?”
He clears his throat. “Go for it.”
No-nonsense and all business. Just like my Cohen. He’s a badass with a heart of gold. Not only is he the type of friend who would do anything he can to help someone he cares about, but when it comes to security concerns, he’s also learned from the best. Aside from his father or his father-in-law, no one else would be able to see the holes I can’t.
“You know why I originally left, taking the job for security with Loaded Replay, right?”
“Yeah. Something about them dealing with a series of issues?”
“Yes … and no. A few of those issues were easy to explain or knock off the concern list. The only one left that still sits wrong with me is the pictures and note.”
I explain to him what had been found, including the note, but even as fucked up as that situation was, nothing has happened since. Even the police would have brushed it off as nothing, but I just can’t seem to let it go. We go over the label, them leaving, and the leak that hit the news today. And finally, I tell him what troubles me the most—that someone would go through that much trouble but then just end things without any other instances.
“Tell me, how much time passed between those pictures and when you showed up, feed the pregnancy and marriage rumor, and turned a fake relationship into the real thing?”
“Not even a full week. It happened in Tennessee, and then they were in New York for a week total. They had press set up for the beginning of that week; I showed up at the beginning of that, and then a few shows before we flew back to LA.”
“So assuming that it might be someone close to her, maybe when you showed up—not knowing the relationship was a sham at the time—it changed things for them. You guys haven’t denied the rumors that she’s pregnant—I mean fuck, man, you play up this marriage rumor with a smile. Even I thought it was real, and I’ve known you for a long damn time. If they see you as taking her from the band, her pregnancy or just relationship in general, it will make sense to why the shit hasn’t repeated since.”
I think about what he’s saying, feeling like this might be a key we had been missing. “Assuming I’m the reason it hasn’t happened since, why wouldn’t they make another move when it’s clear she’s still with the band?”
“Tour was winding down. Maybe they thought once she had that rumored baby, she wouldn’t come back.”
It doesn’t make sense. I’m missing something here; I just know it. “And then what? Wren has a baby and leaves the group, so what does that person get out of it then?”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “What’s her relationship with the other guys like? Aside from her brother, I mean.”
“They might as well all be her brothers, Cohen. Those four are thick as thieves. Known each other their whole lives pretty much. They have a closeness that rivals what you and the guys have,” I answer, referring to the guys he’s known since birth—all of their parents being best friends.
“She’s never had anything romantic with them?”
“Never, man. Jamison might flirt sometimes, but hell, he flirts with me too. That man doesn’t mean anything by it when he’s picking on Wren.”
Cohen’s silence is all I hear.
“What are you thinking, Coh?”
“Find out if someone is working that tour who might have had a relationship with Jamison. If you’re right, and he’s so open with his flirting, what if he had something with someone or turned them down, but flaunts his flirting with Wren in their face.”
“Then it would make sense why they would want Wren gone,” I finish, feeling a chill run up my spine.
“It makes sense,” he adds.
“It does, unfortunately. Thanks, Cohen. I haven’t been looking at things from that angle at all.”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing another head to see the part of the picture your blind side is facing.”
Before Wren, I would have thought exactly the opposite, but I know he’s right. So
metimes, things just aren’t visible to you, no matter how hard you look or how trained you are to spot them.
“Hey, before I let you go, Cage or Axel around?” I ask, hoping he knows where his dad or father-in-law—also my bosses—are.
“Ax is here somewhere.”
“Right, do me a favor and let me talk to him, so I don’t have to make another call. And so you hear it from me, I’m about to tell him that my leave of absence will be permanent.”
“What the fuck, Chance! It isn’t your fault you didn’t see that shit. Don’t leave because you missed it.”
I smile. “I’m moving out here to be with Wren, Cohen. She has my ring on her finger, and there isn’t anything fabricated about that. I’m leaving so I can start my life with her.”
“Oh. Right. Let me go get Ax,” he responds, making my smile get bigger. “Here he is, man. And Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m happy for you. Real fucking happy for you.”
When I end the call ten minutes later, officially cutting all ties that I had back in Georgia, I don’t feel the sadness I thought I would. It’s the only place I had before Wren that even came close to feeling like home. When I made the decision to take the job Wren and the guys were offering, I knew this moment would come, but I just thought I would feel something other than … relief. But with the blessing from two men who mean a whole hell of a lot, I know I didn’t just leave good friends. They’re always going to be there.
I just took the steps to start really living my life.
A life with a woman who loves me as much as I love her, free of the fear and pain I had been living with, knowing this was the last destroyed piece Wren had promised she would put back together.
And fuck, does it feel good.
“Sound check go okay?” Dyllan asks when I walk into the dressing room at the Staples Center.
“Yeah, always does here.”
“What’s up with you?” She moves to my side, looking at me with concern.
“Nothing. I’m just tired and stressed. I had hoped we would be able to go home for a while. I miss my bed. But Hunter called Chance before we even got close and said home was a no-go. Media circus there and it was easier to move us once here than have to get here, get there, and then get back. Too many moves for them to do on the fly or something.”
“Things will die down. If not, just tell them you’re having twins and not one baby like they assume.”
I swat her, feeling some of the stress and exhaustion dissipate.
“Where is Chance?” She looks around, apparently just now figuring out he isn’t with me. “God, you almost look weird without him attached to you.”
“Oh, shut up. He’s just outside in the hallway talking to the guys.”
“About what?”
I shrug. “I’m guessing something about security. I stay out of it.”
“Wouldn’t that be a conversation you should be having with them?”
It did cross my mind, but I trust Chance, and if he felt the need to talk to them alone, then I wasn’t going to argue with him. Instead of telling her all that, though, I just shrug. I would rather channel my inner sloth and put forth minimal effort at life until our show tonight.
Ten minutes later, the guys walk in. Wes and Luke look pissed, but Jamison almost looks dejected. I shoot my eyes to Chance, concerned, but he just holds up his hand, silently asking me to wait.
“Tell her,” Chance demands, looking at Weston.
“Tell me what?”
“Fuck,” Wes spits, kicking over the empty trashcan in the corner before looking at me. “I wasn’t exactly truthful about why we needed to bring security in back in New York.”
I look at Chance, my eyes wide. “What do you mean?” I ask when I’m finally able to look away from his steady gaze.
“I left out some shit that I didn’t want to scare you with. I knew if I could just get you to agree to security, then you wouldn’t need to know. I could share it with whomever we hired. You seemed so miserable, Wren. I didn’t want to give you another reason to want to throw in the towel.”
“I would never have thrown in the towel,” I venomously defend.
“I did what I felt what right. I asked Chance to keep it from you because I knew he would protect you, even from the whole truth of what brought him there.”
I narrow my eyes at Chance. He holds his hands up and points at Wes. “You can yell at me later. Let him finish.”
“The pictures, they were bad, Wren. I didn’t want you to know someone had violated your privacy that bad. You already looked at our lives cynical of everyone and everything. I hadn’t seen you smile freely without lines of unhappiness. I didn’t want to add to that. But they left a note too.”
I gasp, fear crawling up my throat. “Tell me.”
“You were sleeping, in bed, and there wasn’t much covering you. The note basically warned you to leave Loaded Replay or there would be a next time that wasn’t just pictures.”
I reach behind me, searching blindly for something—anything—to ground me. Dyllan grabs my hand and pulls me back to the couch I had been sitting on earlier.
“What’s changed?” I ask, feeling the wetness of my tears falling slowly down my face.
Chance must have had enough at the sight of them because he steps forward from his spot near the door. I hold my hand out, reaching for him even though I’m mad that he kept this from me. He’s sitting next to me, gathering me up and onto his lap, before wrapping me in his protective embrace.
“Chance changed.” Luke replied for Wes, and I look up to see my brother looking down. I have a feeling he’s trying to get his emotions in check. One thing my big brother can’t handle is knowing he’s hurt me.
“I didn’t change,” Chance rumbles against my back. “I just talked things over with a colleague of mine. It’s been bothering me that there hasn’t been another attempt at contact with Wren. Nothing. I just needed to bounce things off him because I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something. When I brought those things to the guys, Jamison gave me some information he had that confirmed Cohen was dead-on.”
I glance around the room, my brother still avoiding my eyes. Luke’s holding steady and strong, but Jamison is slouched in the chair, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. My head spins, worried sick, and I turn to Chance—questions in my eyes.
“Cohen’s theory is that it has less to do with someone wanting you, and more of them wanting you out of the way so they can have what they really want.”
I shake my head, not understanding Chance’s words.
His hold tightens before he continues. “When he asked me to explain your relationship with the guys, I told him you guys were closer than siblings—aside from Jamison’s flirting. I also told him Jamison flirts with everyone, but Cohen believed it was just the key I needed. He thought—and I have to say, now that I know everything, I have to agree with him—that this person had been on the receiving end of that flirting and felt like you were the reason it was either stopped or denied—depending on who it was. When Cohen came up with this, it was because of the belief that there hasn’t been anything since. I showed up, and you were no longer considered a huge threat because everyone outside this room believed the rumors. However, now I know there hasn’t been anything else because of that, but also because of what Jamison just told me.”
My head spins, trying to figure this out with the overwhelming facts.
“What did Jamison say?” Dyllan asks, her voice quiet and scared.
“Tell them,” Chance demands of Jami.
“Fuck!” Jamison explodes, knifing up to pace. He makes two quick paces before stopping, taking a huge lungful of air and looking at me. “I had a text that said now that you’re married, I’m free to be theirs and they would be there every step of the way until I decided to come to them. I thought it was just some reporter who had gotten my number, trying to get confirmation about your baby rumors!”
“So it isn’t
me they’re after but Jamison?” I ask the room, terrified.
“Essentially, yes. I believe that’s the case,” Chance tells my back, bending to press a kiss to my shoulder. “But that text makes me believe it’s someone on the crew. They’re the only ones who would be around constantly. I think they’re waiting for him to come to them.”
“Can you use me?”
Every head in the room jerks to Dyllan when she says those two words. Everyone except Chance, who shoots her down instantly. I look over my shoulder, seeing him study her with a practiced eye.
“Chance?” Panic bubbles up.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes colliding with mine, and I see something in them that makes me sit up a little straighter.
This is Chance in his element. The one who knows more about this than any of us ever could. But more importantly, this is my Chance, the man who has told me his deepest regrets and most painful secrets. This is that Chance asking me to trust him. This is my Chance showing me that he really did hear me almost two months ago when we lay in my bed. That he didn’t just hear me, but at some point in our time together, those destroyed pieces healed completely for him—not just me.
This is him doing what he knows needs to be done and not letting the fear of losing someone who he loves in the process overwhelm him—driving him to retreat.
“Always,” I say, my voice true and clear. My thoughts slam into me, making me feel the confidence in whatever he has planned because I trust him with not just me but also with the people I love.
“Do it,” Chance whispers.
His eyes hold mine steady, trying to tell me without words that he loves me and it’s okay, but I feel sick.
“I don’t think I can.”
My chin wobbles and fresh tears fall. They’ve been coming off and on since he went over his plan. He doesn’t move, though. He stands there, clenching his jaw over and over—and flaring his nostrils.
“Do it, now.”
“This kills me to even say the words, Chance.”
“Do it so when this is all over, I can get my hands back on you and prove to you that nothing that happens next will change us.”
