One More Moment

by Samantha Chase

  Which was kind of depressing. Didn’t most people dream of living the lifestyle of the rich and famous? Was there ever a time when she had?

  “Of course,” she murmured as she stepped into her apartment. Growing up, she’d always imagined what it would be like to be rich and live in one of those houses—well, just like Julian was living in right now. Growing up in Malibu, she wasn’t immune to being around the wealthy set. And while her parents were both highly respected business professionals and considered upper middle class, they’d never reached the house-on-the-beach level. Even after her dad had gotten back on his feet and had steady employment again.

  It was funny how Charlotte had—for the most part—grown up in a very comfortable environment where she had never known poverty. Even during the time when her father had been unemployed, they hadn’t lost everything or been forced to start over. Their struggle had been emotional and psychological, and yet it made such an impact on her that it was what she’d gravitated toward as a career. All these years later and her parents still thought it was an admirable profession but an odd choice for her.

  Some days she agreed.

  How much easier would it be to work in a more glamorous and less gritty environment? Maybe then she wouldn’t be so aware of the differences between herself and the Julians of the world. Maybe she would have a little more confidence in herself where he was concerned and then she’d feel totally at ease with seeking him out.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t know where to find him. She remembered their conversation from their dinner on the beach when he’d pointed it out to her.

  The fifth one down is mine for the next few months.

  If she was a bold kind of woman, she’d simply drive down to the beach and walk until she found the house, climb up the back steps, and—what? What on earth did she think she’d do? Ask him out? Jump him? Seriously, what would she do?

  “Nothing,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’d do nothing because I’m not the kind of woman who walks up the stairs to a man’s home and does anything.”

  And right now, she wasn’t so sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Ugh. Why was she doing this to herself? It didn’t matter about the what-ifs. The fact was that she was going out with a very nice man tomorrow night and she was happy about it. They were meeting for drinks at one of her favorite wine bars down by the Santa Monica pier and with any luck, they’d go for a walk either along the pier or on the beach and she’d like him enough to want to go out with him again.

  It was a totally attainable goal, and Charlotte was the queen of helping people make a list of their goals and then reaching them.

  Go Charlotte!

  It was a lot different when she was making the list for herself.

  “Obviously I’m no good at practicing what I preach,” she murmured as she walked into the kitchen. Rather than get Chinese takeout, she’d decided to make something herself and enjoy a late dinner on her tiny balcony.

  All in all, not a bad way to spend the evening.

  When her mind tried to correct her on a better way to spend the evening, she immediately shut it down and went to work on the dinner.

  To block out any further chances of her mind wandering where it shouldn’t, Charlotte hooked her iPod up to her mini speakers and hit one of her favorite playlists, one she normally listened to if she went for an early morning walk.

  And wouldn’t you know it, the first song to pop up was by Shaughnessy.

  How could she have forgotten that song was on there?

  It was okay, she could listen to the lead singer’s voice and not focus at all on the drums playing in the background.

  Only…that made her focus on the percussion sound and an image of Julian playing them.

  Focus on something else! she admonished herself. There were so many other things she could be thinking about—how she wanted her chicken…was this too much broccoli…did Oliver play an instrument…

  “Dammit,” she hissed, more than a little annoyed with her wayward mind.

  Looking around her kitchen, she spotted the bottle of wine from Monday night and decided another glass was in order. So she prepped her meal, drank some wine, and did her best not to picture a sweaty, sexy, shirtless drummer.

  It made for a very long night.

  * * *

  “You did a great job with this, Dylan. Seriously, this is impressive. I’m a little envious,” Riley said as they finished touring the small guesthouse Dylan had converted into a personal studio. There were divided spaces to allow for isolation of instruments, recording equipment, an assortment of guitars, and the entire place was soundproofed. “I love my house and my studio, but compared to this it’s tiny and almost unusable.”

  “Yeah, right,” Dylan said sarcastically. “Your studio is awesome, and we’ve all jammed down there more than enough times to know that, so cut the crap.”

  “I’m expanding the space I’ve got back east,” Matt said, accepting a beer Dylan pulled from the fully stocked kitchen. He took a drink and looked over at Julian. “What about you? When you start looking for a new place, are you going to want a separate building for a studio?”

  All eyes were on him—Riley’s, Matt’s, and Mick’s—and they were all obviously interested. Only Dylan opted to look away. Grabbing a bottle of beer for himself, Julian drank some of it down before answering. Might as well get it out of the way early in the day.

  “No.”

  For a minute, no one spoke.

  “You want to do something like what I have?” Riley asked. “The basement? I’ll admit, it makes soundproofing a little trickier since you don’t want anyone on the main floor to hear anything, but you can potentially have a lot more square footage on one level than you can with a guesthouse.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Julian forced himself to say as he turned to pull up one of the barstools and sat down. “I’m not looking for any personal studio space because…” He paused and sighed, hating how hopeful they’d all been a minute ago and how he was going to be the one to ruin it all for them. “I’m not playing anymore. I’m retiring.”

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  “Why don’t we go back over to the house and talk,” Dylan suggested even as he began to walk toward the door.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mick said, his eyes never leaving Julian’s. “How long have you known about this?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been on my mind since the wedding. The more time I had to think about it, the more it made sense. I can’t work around people who would stab me in the back like that.”

  “He was a studio tech!” Mick yelled. “In the grand scheme of things, he was a nobody. Trust me, he won’t be working anywhere near us ever again!”

  “All right, we need to calm down,” Riley said levelly. “I think we all figured something like this might happen, and we need to sit down and listen to what Julian has to say.”

  So many times Julian had hated the way Riley always seemed to know exactly what to say and how to say it. It was annoying how the guy just had his shit together—always had—even when he was in the midst of his own crisis.

  Wordlessly, everyone found a place to sit—except Mick—and waited him out.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Jules,” Matt said cautiously, “you know we’ve all felt like this. It almost seems crazy that we’re still together at all, because it’s been a ridiculous few years for us. Riley having writer’s block and wanting to call it quits, my Broadway flop that had me second-guessing my ability to play music at all, Dylan’s rehab. Dude, seriously, you are among friends here. Literally. We’ve all been there.”

  It didn’t matter how many people made that statement to him, it wasn’t true. No one had dealt with the level of betrayal and embarrassment Julian had—no matter what they thought.
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br />   “I said it to Dylan and I’ll say it again,” Julian began, “it’s not the same. I’m not doubting my musical ability. I love to play the drums and I’ve loved making a living at it, but at what cost? For years I was in denial about what was happening. I thought by not acknowledging it that it would all just…right itself. And time after time I thought it had. But in the end, look what happened. If I stay in this industry, I’m never going to be able to trust another living soul again, and that’s not how I want to live.”

  “I get it, Julian, I do,” Dylan chimed in. “The first event I went to after rehab, all I could think of was how I had to be on my guard constantly so I didn’t find myself back with the people I used to party with. It was stressful, and even though I was approached and the opportunity was there for me to go back to my old ways, I resisted. Every day is still a struggle on some level. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been clean and sober, it’s still hard. Right now, I’m sitting here drinking water while you guys are having beers.

  “Six months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Even stocking the fridge for all of you had me sweating a bit, but I’m here and I’m handling it.”

  “That’s just it,” Julian countered, “I don’t want to have to keep handling it. It’s no way to live. At least not for me. I just want to have some peace in my life. For five freaking years I haven’t had any peace!”

  “And whose fault is that?” Mick snapped. “We all tried talking to you, Julian. You were convinced Dena was going to get her shit together and settle down. And that stunt at the wedding? That was all on you. No one asked you to make a public spectacle of the whole damn thing. I begged you not to do it, but you wouldn’t be swayed!”

  “You gave me the car and had everything waiting for me back at your house!” Julian snapped back.

  “Because you gave me no choice! You were going to go through with publicly humiliating Dena no matter what I said, so I did what I could to make sure that at least you escaped the hotel before anyone could leak what happened to the paparazzi!”

  Julian jumped to his feet, slamming the beer down on the table. “It was the only way to break the cycle! All along, everything she did was kept quiet. I knew how much she hated to look bad, and if I was really going to end this, it had to be in front of everyone she knew!”

  “It didn’t have to be at your wedding, Julian,” Riley said, and for the first time, Julian heard disappointment in his voice. “I get what you were trying to do—at least now I finally do—but there had to be some other options.”

  “The end result would have been the same,” Julian said dejectedly. “It still would have been devastating and humiliating and…and…”

  “You can’t be pissed at everyone for a situation you created,” Mick stated, his frustration clear. “If you had given me even another day or two, we could have dealt with her without the public spectacle and having you essentially giving up the life you worked so hard for!”

  Raking a hand through his hair, Julian sighed with frustration. “Look, I get that you’re disappointed, all right? I get it! But there was always going to come a day when the band wasn’t going to be the band anymore! And I’m not telling any of you that you can’t keep playing. All I’m saying is that I’m not. So…go ahead and be upset with me and try to tell me how I’m wrong. I don’t care. All I do care about right now is my sanity and just…getting out of the spotlight.”

  “Julian—” Riley began but Matt interrupted him.

  “Jules, you may think this is going to last forever, but it will pass. I swear.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not the press, man. I wish that was the only hang-up. I don’t trust anyone. I can’t trust anyone.”

  This time Riley stood and made sure he was heard. “Do you trust me?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, do you trust me? Do you think I’m lying to you or betraying you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you think I’m going to hit on Charlotte?” Dylan asked with a smirk. “I mean, you know my history. Do you think I’m going to look her up and go and check her out, or maybe fix her up with one of my friends and—”

  Julian stood and swung at Dylan, connecting with his friend’s jaw.

  It was chaos after that. Dylan stumbled back, Riley caught him, Matt grabbed Julian, and Mick stepped in between them all. “What the hell is going on here?” he yelled. “And who’s Charlotte?”

  Dylan straightened, and damn him, he still had a smirk on his face. He leaned in close to Julian. “You can be sure none of us would ever betray you. Ever. And you can stand here and play the victim, but in the last five years—even when you knew Dena was messing around—you never took a swing at anyone because of it. Think about that.”

  He didn’t want to. Swinging at Dylan was out of frustration for the entire situation, not about Charlotte—it couldn’t be. No way. She didn’t mean anything to him other than a nice distraction since he’d returned home.

  It had been a week since he’d seen her, and he hadn’t even thought about her since she drove away after their kiss in the parking lot.

  Okay, he had, but just a little.

  Every night and pretty much every time he closed his eyes, but…it didn’t mean anything.

  “Are we all ready to sit down and talk like grown-ups or do we need a time out?” Mick asked sarcastically.

  There were a few murmurs, but everyone sat back down.

  “You’re not quitting Shaughnessy,” Mick finally said, his voice firm. “You need a little more time to adjust to the idea, fine. Take until after the label’s anniversary party in January before setting up time to go back into the studio. Your appearance there isn’t optional.”

  “You can’t force me to play, Mick,” Julian replied obstinately. “If I don’t want to, there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “I manage this band and you have contracts and commitments. For the last three years I’ve had to deal with all of you having crap to work through. I stood by and helped with all of it. We’ve missed out on some pretty big things. Well, I’m here to tell you that I’m done standing by and waiting. If you don’t start doing something—and soon—the fans will forget about you and you’re not going to get them back.” He paused and paced the room. “You’re a great band and you can have the staying power of the Stones or Aerosmith, but not if this sabbatical doesn’t come to an end soon.”

  “You never mentioned us missing anything,” Riley said, confused. “Why haven’t you brought it up before?”

  “What good would it have done?” Mick yelled with exasperation. “You couldn’t write, Matty was hiding, Dylan was in rehab… I mean, why would I add more pressure to any of you?” Then he turned to Julian. “But you?” He shook a finger at him. “You put yourself in this position, and you’re going to pull yourself out of it.”

  Julian stood and shook his head. “Not gonna happen, Mick. There was a time when you could intimidate me and I’d cave. Not anymore. My mind is made up.”

  “Jules,” Dylan spoke up. “This is a knee-jerk reaction. Just…give it some time. We can just put everything on hold until the New Year. Seriously. I think you need some time to settle back in and see that things aren’t as bad as you think.”

  “I agree,” Matt added. “We don’t have to make any long-term decisions right now. We’re all here together, so why don’t we push the business stuff aside and just hang out and jam? That’s really what I’m here for anyway.” He grinned at the group and it seemed to ease some of the tension in the room.

  And as much as Julian wanted to just leave, he had to admit that part of him was itching to get behind a set of drums. It had been so long since he’d played and…what harm could a couple of songs do, right? Looking across the room, he noticed the drums Dylan had purchased were Julian’s signature set—Tama Artstar. His fingers twitched with the nee
d to pick up a set of sticks and just play.

  Not wanting to seem too anxious and get anyone’s hopes up, Julian gave a careless shrug as he moved across the room toward the set. “Got nothing else to do today…”

  And just like that, everyone took his place, picked up his gear, and began to play.

  And damn if it didn’t feel great.

  * * *

  The sky was clear and the stars were bigger and brighter than Charlotte could ever remember seeing.

  There was a great breeze coming off the water as she walked along the nearly deserted beach.

  She was happy from listening to a great jazz trio while enjoying some amazing wine and appetizers.

  With a relaxed and happy grin, she thought the only thing that would have made this the perfect night was if her date had actually shown up.

  Stood up.

  Um…yeah. That was kind of a buzzkill on the evening and yet…it was hard to care when everything else around her was exactly to her liking.

  After sitting at the bar for more than two hours, she’d given up. The thought of something happening to Oliver had crossed her mind, so she’d texted him to see if he was all right and he’d responded with: Sorry. Maybe we can try again next week. No explanation, no advance warning that he wasn’t coming, so… Sorry, Oliver. We won’t be trying this again.

  In spite of what had just happened, she wasn’t upset.

  Was that what she wanted? The kind of guy who could be called dependable, but wasn’t? A man who others made sound as though he was a safe choice rather than someone who made her heart pound with excitement?

  “Nope,” she whispered softly as she looked out at the ocean. She was far enough back that she could sit in the sand without getting wet and that’s exactly what she decided to do. Pulling her knees to her chest—and thankful for the maxi dress so she could drape it over her legs—Charlotte sighed and closed her eyes and let her senses take over.

  In her purse, her phone beeped with an incoming text. She knew it was going to be Tami or one of the girls asking how her date went, and when she pulled the phone out, she smiled at being right.