Dedication
For Kristi
I love how bright your light shines
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Angie Stanton
Credits
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Garrett’s head pounded, and not from the hangover that would greet him with the sunrise, but from being slammed against the wall. Or maybe it was from the few punches that came later when he crashed to the floor of Ye Ole Boston Brew Pub and knocked his head on the beer-stained tile.
He rubbed his unshaven face, and dried blood flaked into his hand. Great. He needed a shower and an aspirin, but the Boston city jail offered neither. Where the hell was Peter? It had been over an hour.
The sharp edge of the narrow bench he lay on cut into his back, making his already battered body even more sore. He only hoped the other guy felt worse. The jerk had the audacity to call him washed up. For Christ’s sake, he was only twenty-two. He’d accomplished more in the last five years than that asshole would in a lifetime.
Reaching for his phone, he remembered the cops had taken it, along with his wallet and keys. Damn it.
“Garrett Jamieson,” a bored cop with thinning hair announced, unlocking the cell. “You’re free to go.”
“About damn time,” Garrett huffed, rising slowly. He tugged his shirt into place, smoothed back his hair, and followed the officer down a long corridor past several cells with other perps. He couldn’t wait to get away from this hellhole. The officer opened a solid metal security door, and Garrett walked through, relieved to be free.
In the far corner of the waiting room, studying the Most Wanted posters, his brother waited, wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt.
“Hey Peter,” he called. “See anyone you know?”
Peter turned with a smirk on his face and his hair still ruffled from bed. “Just checking to make sure your ugly mug isn’t up here.”
Garrett sneered. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Never is.” Peter sighed. “You realize this is becoming an annoying habit. You’re lucky your Jag is still in the shop from your crash last week, otherwise you might have added drunk driving to your record.”
“Stop acting like an old woman.”
“You have more to worry about than me. Dad isn’t going to be happy about this.”
“No reason Dad needs to hear about it.”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think you can keep this under wraps. A couple of photographers are outside. You’re busted. Again.”
Garrett stepped to the counter and signed his discharge papers.
“At least I know how to live a little. You’re tied down to a ball and chain.”
His brother grinned with a smile that melted millions of young girls’ hearts. “Well, I happen to have the hottest ball and chain on the planet.”
Garrett rolled his eyes as he collected his personal effects. Peter was so in love it made Garrett ill. It’s not like he wasn’t glad for his brother, but Peter and Libby were so damned happy all the time, he wanted to puke.
“Yeah, and you’re missing out on the best years of your life,” Garrett snapped.
“How’s that? I’ve been watching you drink yourself into oblivion, rack up speeding tickets, and pick a fight every chance you get. You don’t look too happy to me.”
“You ever think that maybe you’re to blame?”
“How do you figure that?” Peter asked, opening the door to exit the police station and ducking his head as cameras flashed.
“Seriously?” Garrett stopped suddenly. “You’re the one who broke up the band.”
2
“Nuggett, hold still,” Riley scolded the wiggling little dog. She held him at arm’s length with one hand and aimed the sink sprayer at the disgusting little canine. Riley tried to flip her long red hair over her shoulder and out of the spray zone, but it kept falling back in front of her.
“Riley, what are you doing?” asked Logan, a fellow runner with her at Sound Sync Studio. He was only a year older than she. He wore his shoulder-length hair in thick dreads along with a neatly trimmed beard.
“Living the dream,” she said, wrestling with the pint-size troublemaker, determined he wouldn’t get the best of her.
“Now dog baths are part of our duties?” Logan leaned back against the break room counter and watched.
“Only when the dog has the runs and rolls in it.” She wrinkled her nose as she found another soiled area on Nuggett’s white fur.
“You’re shitting me,” he said with a smirk.
“That’s not funny.” She used her shoulder to push her wet hair from her face.
“Well, at least now I know my life could be worse,” he said in a defeated tone.
“What happened?”
“Oh, just another meltdown from Candace Capri. The woman can’t carry a tune nearly as well as she thinks she can.” He turned and purposely banged his head against the cupboard door. “Remind me why we keep coming back here?”
Logan had been the first person Riley met when she started at the recording studio three months ago. He’d saved her from making huge mistakes a number of times. Poor guy. He seemed to get assigned to all the difficult artists lately. Unless of course, you counted Nuggett, the lapdog of a classical singer who fed him Manhattans and jellybeans.
“Well, it might be the big bucks we make working from noon until two a.m. every day,” she teased, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Logan glared, and Riley bit back a smile.
“Or rubbing shoulders with the greatest musicians of our day.”
“You mean those arrogant, entitled prima donnas,” Logan said.
She laughed. When she took this job at one of the most prestigious recording studios in Chicago, she knew she’d be dealing with some big egos. Riley had dabbled in this world a long time ago and witnessed it firsthand.
“Fine. How about it’s your desperate yearning to help create the perfect album while working insane hours.”
“And barely making enough money to feed my cat,” Logan added.
“That
’s it! I knew there was a reason.” She waved the hose in the air.
Logan ducked away from the spray and pointed under Nuggett’s neck. “You missed a spot.”
“Thanks.” As she sprayed the little mutt’s neck, he tried to bite the water. “So what happened?” She took the dish soap and squirted a blob on Nuggett’s back. The dog now resembled a drowned rat.
“Ms. Capri spent half the night arguing with the bass player over the intro. Four hours into the session he stormed off, swearing that she was tone deaf and couldn’t find high C even if she was sitting at a piano. At this rate they won’t be done with the album for another three months.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry. But on the bright side, I heard that Fever Pitch is coming in. That ought to be epic.” She lathered up Nuggett.
“Seriously? I gotta get in on that session,” Logan said.
“Too late. I already asked.” She grinned.
“You’re killing me. You keep flaunting your girly ways and you’ll be producing soon.”
“Yeah, ’cause this is the look guys go for.” She looked down at her drenched T-shirt and faded jeans with the frayed bottoms. She wore her hair down, and other than mascara and eyeliner, rarely wore makeup. There were enough glamorous singers strutting around in designer clothes with camera-ready faces.
Riley paled in comparison, which was fine with her. Lurking in the background, setting up equipment, and running errands was a more comfortable gig.
Ron, one of the lead engineers, stuck his balding head in. “There you are, Riley. You’re a difficult girl to find.”
“I’ve been right here, having spa time with Nuggett while his owner lays down vocals. What’s up?”
“Good news. Not only has Barry agreed to let you in on the Fever Pitch sessions, he wants you to take a shot as assistant producer.”
“Oh my God! Are you serious? I’ve been begging Barry for a month to give me a chance at the sound board.” Nuggett tried to jump out of the sink. Riley quickly grabbed his slippery little body and held him tight, the ends of her long hair falling onto his sudsy back.
“It worked. And not a bad gig either.” Ron smiled, knowing how much Riley wanted a career in the recording industry. This was an awesome first step.
Logan crossed his arms and shook his head. “See, there’s those girly ways again. I’m doomed. I might as well give up.”
“Yup, that’s me. Oh so alluring.” She swiped a glob of lather from Nuggett onto Logan’s shoulder.
3
Garrett drummed his fingers in rapid succession on the steering wheel, willing the Boston traffic to move faster. Rush hour should be long over by now, so what was the big holdup? Was it all the tourists who bombarded the city each summer?
Then he realized there was a concert at the Pavilion. He smacked his hand against the steering wheel and swore. It should be Jamieson causing traffic jams, not some piece-of-shit group that some oily promoter threw together. The greed to cash in on tween lust for bubblegum pop was out of hand.
It had been three months since his brothers, Peter and Adam, had blindsided him with quitting the band. His blood boiled whenever he thought of it, which was most of the time.
No matter how hard he tried, his brothers wouldn’t back down. At the height of their career, the two walked away, without a care in the world. And tonight Garrett had to spend a whole evening with his family, minus Adam, who had hopped a plane to Tanzania to shadow a National Geographic photographer.
Garrett finally reached the restaurant, squealed into the driveway, and stopped in front of the doors.
“Good evening, sir,” the parking attendant said. The pimple-faced valet couldn’t be much older than eighteen.
“Hi. Park it in a double spot, would ya? I just got it back from the shop.” Garrett scooped up a massive bouquet of flowers and a small, professionally wrapped package from the passenger’s seat.
“Absolutely. Enjoy your dinner.”
Garrett jogged up the steps and entered the restaurant.
“Good evening, Mr. Jamieson. The rest of your party is already seated. If you would please follow me,” the maître d’ said.
Forcing a smile, he followed the man through the crowded restaurant to a smaller dining room toward the back. A few heads turned, but not nearly as many as if he’d appeared with Peter and Adam. It was impossible not to notice their star quality as a group, but alone, he’d become invisible. Garrett tamped down his irritation as he arrived at the table.
“There you are,” his mother said, rising. Her bright eyes sparkled with joy at having the family together.
“Happy birthday, Mom.” He greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then gave her the flowers.
“Oh my gosh, they’re beautiful. Calla lilies. You always remember.” She smiled, happy over the littlest things.
“I could never forget your favorite flowers. We have Dad for that.” He grinned at his father. “Hey, Peter. Libby.” He nodded to his brother and his longtime girlfriend.
“Hi, Garrett,” Libby said with a smile.
Peter nodded as he sipped his water.
Garrett took a seat between his father and Peter. He was the fifth wheel at this little soiree. Seemed like he was always the odd man out these days.
“Running a bit late, aren’t you?” His father raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry about that. I got a late start and traffic was insane.” He bit back the urge to mention the concert was the cause of the backup. He couldn’t say it without starting an argument.
“It’s no problem. We ordered a couple of appetizers while we were waiting. Ah, here they are,” his mother said.
The waiter set down the plates.
“Could I get a beer, please?” Garrett ordered.
His father frowned.
“What? I’m twenty-two, Dad.”
“Maybe you should cut back,” his dad said.
“Why? It’s not hurting anyone.” Garrett’s jaw tightened.
“Isn’t it?” his dad said with a pointed look.
“Jett, try the shrimp. It’s delicious,” his mother smoothly interrupted, placing a hand on her husband’s arm.
His father turned his attention back to Garrett’s mother and they enjoyed a mostly amiable dinner of small talk about Libby’s summer art class, Peter’s new hobby of rock-climbing, and his mother telling of a walking group she wanted their dad to join.
“If I wanted to take a walk, I don’t need a coordinated group to do it. I’ll open the door and go,” his dad said.
“Yes, I know, but I’d like to see you be more active,” his mother replied, concerned, but then changed the subject. “I really wish Adam could have been here. There’s such a void without him.”
“I’m sure he’s having the time of his life photographing exotic safari animals,” Libby said.
“He would have been here if the band stayed together,” Garrett muttered, “but everyone seemed to want to trash all those years of work, and for what? So Adam could play amateur photographer and Peter can write indie rock music?”
Peter kicked him under the table.
“What? You know this is bullshit. We should be onstage or in the recording studio. No one in their right mind quits at the height of their career!”
“Garrett, please,” Peter said in a steady tone. “Tonight is about Mom’s birthday, not business. If you want to have it out again, you’ll have to wait.”
“Hell, I do. I’ll never stop arguing the point.” He downed the rest of his beer.
His mother sighed and looked away.
“Garrett, perhaps it’s time to focus your attention on your own life. You have a few things to get in order, don’t you think?” his father said.
“You’re going to make this about me? That’s perfect. I’m the only one who ever took the band seriously.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“That’s a load of crap and you know it,” Peter said.
“Is it? I was the one dri
ving to keep us at the top.”
“And you burned us out! If it were up to you, we’d never have a day off. What’s the point of being at the top if you can’t enjoy life?”
“You love being onstage. You can’t deny it.”
“You’re right. I do. But at what price?”
“Don’t do me any favors, I don’t expect you to get it when you’re in such a hurry to play house.”
“Boys, keep your voices down. Please,” his mother said.
“Excuse me?” Peter said through clenched teeth. “It seems that all I’ve done the past month is do you favors. Three times I’ve picked you up drunk or bailed you out of jail.”
“Is that true, Garrett?” His mom looked horrified.
Garrett frowned. He hadn’t planned on her finding out, let alone his dad.
“Garrett, let’s take a walk.” His father stood.
He was about to resist, but the stern expression on his father’s face changed his mind. “Fine.” He tossed his linen napkin on the table and rose.
“Honey, go ahead and enjoy dessert without us.” His dad kissed his mother’s cheek and then led the way out onto the street.
Garrett glanced back at the restaurant. Great, now he felt like a total dick. “Dad. We don’t need to ruin Mom’s birthday by leaving.”
“I think you’ve already taken care of that.” He walked down the sidewalk, leaving Garrett no choice but to follow.
They walked in silence for two blocks before his father lit up a cigarette.
“Does Mom know you’re smoking again?”
Dad eyed him. “What do you think?”
Ever since his dad’s heart attack a couple of years ago, he’d been forbidden to touch a cigarette.
“We’re all going to die someday. I’d prefer to live life my way.” He took a long drag and blew it out. “Son. I know this has been tough for you. I see you floundering, with no direction.”
Garrett bristled. His dad made him sound weak. “I’ve got it under control.”
“That’s good, because I’d hate to see what out of control looks like.”
They walked along the quiet streets. The concert at the Pavilion would have started by now.
His father interrupted his thoughts. “Have you given any consideration to what you’d like to do?”
“Yeah, I’d like to be on tour with Jamieson.”
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