Down To You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 5)

by Jayne Frost

  I scoffed inwardly at the thought. Chase was family. He’d never sell me out.

  Returning my attention to Mac, I pinned on a self-assured smile. “Not going to happen.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say. But it seems imprudent to put all your eggs in one basket.” His gaze fell to the papers. “Look, I think you’re the real draw in the band. And I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is. All of Metro’s resources. You’re going to get lots of visibility from the tour. I could have you in the studio the day after your last gig while your current label is still tied up in legal proceedings. Without a new album, Twin Souls is the only one who benefits from the tour, since they’re doing this all themselves.” He tipped back his glass, then hissed air through his teeth. “And speaking of that … how smoothly do you think this tour is going to go without a major concert promoter pulling the strings?” His brow lifted for the hundredth time. “Just sayin’. Something to think about.”

  After setting down his drink, Mac rubbed his hands together. “So what do you say? Shall we order dinner and discuss your options.”

  Options? Did I have options? Was this even an option?

  Right on cue, the waitress appeared at our table. “Have y’all decided?” she asked, glancing at our unopened menus. “Or do you need a few more minutes?”

  Mac tipped his chin at me. The choice was mine.

  Hands curving around the arm of the chair, I willed my legs to work so I could get up and leave. But they didn’t. Shrinking back against the leather, I took a deep breath.

  “I’ll take the rib eye,” I told the server. “Make it bloody.”

  2

  Flat on my back, I fidgeted with the string on my hospital gown as I stared at the ceiling in the radiology center. Despite my best effort, my legs shook, rattling the table.

  Breathe.

  My heart stalled when the lights flicked off, plunging the room into darkness.

  The radiologist’s voice crackled over the speaker. “We’re about ready to begin. Are you comfortable?”

  Comfortable?

  I couldn’t count the number of MRIs I’d had in the last five and a half years, but each one was worse than the last. And I was never comfortable.

  “Fine,” I choked out.

  Shocked by the sudden jolt, my pulse rate kicked up as the table slid into the tube. Once inside the cylinder, I shrank from my distorted reflection on the metal ceiling. It looked like me—long, dark hair piled on my head, heart shape face, nose a little too narrow. But something was off. There was no life in my eyes. No spark in the amber hue. Before I fully adjusted, the machine whirred to life, the clank clank clank echoing in my head like cannon fire.

  “Tori, try to keep still,” came the voice again. “Just relax and don’t fight the anxiety medication. We don’t want to have to do this again.”

  If I closed my eyes it would be worse. But the sedative was already taking effect, and my lids were so heavy.

  And then I smelled the rain. Felt it slick and warm on my skin. Or was that blood?

  Gravel bit into my cheek, and somewhere in the distance, Rhenn called to me.

  “Belle …”

  But I couldn’t lift my head. I tried now, like I’d tried then. Nothing.

  “Belle …”

  Drawn to the panic in his tone, I gave in and let myself slip beneath the veil of unconsciousness. And there, beyond the darkness, the worst night of my life waited to sweep me away.

  “Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” Taryn asked as I tried to pry my eyes open. “What did you give her, anyway?”

  My best friend was a pit bull when she was angry. Or scared. Right now, she was both.

  Because the doctor had prescribed a sedative to get me through the MRI, I’d asked Taryn to drive me to my appointment. But as I was coming out of my drug-induced haze, I knew that was a mistake. It was bad enough that I had to relive the trauma of that night. But I hadn’t thought about Taryn.

  Stupid.

  Though my eyes weren’t cooperating, I fought to push a few words out, but my mouth wasn’t on board with the plan.

  The nurse was in the middle of explaining when the door whooshed open.

  Doctor Andrews’s soothing voice floated to my ears. “Taryn …” His tone was serene, and I imagined him rubbing her arm the way I’d seen him do so many times after the accident. “Tori’s fine. I prescribed Halcyon, which is a relatively strong sedative, and—”

  “Why?” Taryn’s voice trembled despite the authoritative tone. “Why did you give her something that strong? She hasn’t moved. It looks like she’s in a …”

  She let out a staggered breath. But I knew the word on the tip of her tongue.

  For two weeks after the bus crash that nearly ended my life, I’d lingered in a coma. And during that time, Taryn had never left my side. Hers was the first face I saw when I woke up. And she was the one who had to tell me that Rhenn was gone. And Paige.

  A heavy weight descended, pushing in on me from all sides, and a little whimper scraped my throat. That was the drugs. Over the past five and a half years, I’d learned to control my emotions. My tears. The ache that had never truly gone away.

  A hint of lavender and Taryn’s warm hand on my cheek. “Tori?” When I didn’t respond, she said firmly, “It’s time to wake up now, Belle.”

  If she knew how much it hurt to hear her call me that name would she stop? I thought groggily. But I’d never asked.

  With some effort, my lids fluttered open. “H-hey.”

  Taryn loomed over me, eyes wide and fearful. “There you are. It’s about time you woke up.” Over the forced humor, relief suffused her tone.

  “How …” I cleared my throat. “How long was I out?”

  Doctor Andrews’s smiling face appeared over Taryn’s shoulder. “Not too long, champ. A couple of hours.”

  Hours.

  Struggling to my elbows, my spinning head forced me back down to the pillow.

  Taryn grimaced, and with a quick glance to the doctor she asked, “Is she okay?”

  “I’m fine, T-Rex,” I grumbled, and this time when I tried to sit up, it wasn’t that bad. My throat was dry as hell, though. “Can you get me some water or something?”

  Suspicion flashed across my best friend’s face, like she knew I was trying to get rid of her.

  “Um … sure.”

  Reluctantly, she left the room, and once we were alone, I met Doctor Andrews’ gaze. “So … what’s the verdict?”

  His expression gave nothing away as he took a seat on the stool, but I saw it in his eyes, so I prepared for the worst.

  “I’ve sent your films out for a second opinion,” he finally said, grasping my hand when I exhaled a shaky breath. “But it’s my recommendation that you never …”

  Once I heard the word “never,” I tuned him out. Not on purpose. But the sound of a dream dying is louder than you might think. It starts with a crash that you feel to your bones, and then slowly takes over all time and space.

  I watched his lips move, nodding like I understood. And when the roaring between my ears died down, I focused enough to catch the tail end of his explanation.

  “So while it’s technically possible for you to become pregnant,” he said. “Carrying a child to term isn’t advisable.”

  It was then that the girl I used to be decided to make an appearance. The one who still believed that anything was possible.

  “But they make advances all the time,” I said, my voice timid but hopeful. “I mean, I’m only twenty-nine. Maybe in the future there’ll be some options.”

  Andrews shook his head, frowning. “The mesh we put in your abdomen during the initial surgery, it’s become part of you. The tissue grew around it, so it can’t be removed or modified. There just isn’t enough give to withstand the pressure of carrying a child. Let alone labor and delivery. Then there’s the matter of your hip. The pins holding it in place …”

  Enough.

  Pres
sing my lips together, I nodded jerkily, and Andrews stopped explaining.

  After a long moment, he said, “There are other ways to have a child, Tori.”

  I smiled. Fraudulent as hell. “I know. Thank you.”

  It was then I noticed Taryn just inside the door, holding the bottle of water in a death grip. Her eyes darted between the doctor and me, and I wondered how much she’d heard.

  “Don’t forget to keep up with your exercises,” Doctor Andrews said as he hauled to his feet. When I looked down like a teenager who’d been caught sneaking in after curfew, he chuckled and pulled a prescription pad out of the pocket of his smock. “I’m ordering a couple sessions of physical therapy. Just so you can get into the routine of stretching.”

  Groaning, I flopped back against the pillow. “Ugh.”

  Unfazed by my melodramatic behavior, Andrews gave the prescription to Taryn, knowing that she’d stay on my ass and make sure it got done. Dropping my chart on the table on his way to the door, the doctor chirped, “See you in a few months, champ.”

  “Can’t wait,” I muttered as I sat up.

  Taryn’s fearful gaze latched onto mine as she shuffled over. “Is there anything wrong, Belle?”

  She thought I was here for a routine exam, but given what she’d walked in on, I needed to reassure her. So I pushed my disappointment down deep. To the pit where there was no sun. And no air. And no hope.

  I smiled. “Nope. I’m fine as frogs’ hair. Just need to make sure I keep up with my stretching.”

  A pang of guilt shot through me for the lie. But then the tension lines around Taryn’s mouth faded, the smile chasing the rainclouds from her eyes. And without a doubt, I knew it was worth it.

  3

  Cameron looked up from tuning his guitar when I strolled into the loft for rehearsal the next day. Narrowing his eyes, he tracked my movement, disdain curling his lip.

  Fuck.

  Cameron was as easygoing as they came. So I figured the sour look could only mean one thing: he’d found out about my meeting with Mac. And if Cam knew, everyone knew.

  Squaring my shoulders, I dropped my backpack on the floor and sauntered to the mic.

  Cameron followed, boots echoing off the high ceilings. “Seriously, bro? How could you do that?”

  Jamming the cord for the amp into his Fender, he glared at me while feedback hissed from the speaker. The room fell silent as he turned the dial on his guitar, no one daring to make a sound.

  Except for Sean.

  Seated behind his drum kit, my best friend twirled his sticks, snickering.

  I was about to ask what the hell was so funny when another muffled laugh floated my way.

  Cutting my gaze to Christian, I found him adjusting the strap on his bass, trying desperately to bite down a grin.

  “Dick move,” he said to me, then quickly looked away, shoulders quaking and lips pressed together.

  Confused, I turned back to Cameron, who was now beet red and glowering. “We all agreed,” he growled, poking a finger at my chest. “No randoms in the dressing room.”

  “Random what?” I ventured carefully.

  “Women!” Cameron roared. “How do you think Lily felt when she walked in and found some chick spread eagle on the couch wearing only one of your T-shirts?”

  Behind us, Sean dissolved into a fit of laughter.

  “It’s not funny, asshat,” Cameron shot back, glaring over his shoulder. “What if it was Anna?”

  “If it was Anna,” Sean managed between snorts, “she’d tell the girl to put her panties back on and quit hogging the couch.”

  Even I had to laugh at that one, but it was more from relief than anything else. Meeting with Mac was a stupid move. And one I planned on keeping to myself. Since our rendezvous, I’d done some asking around.

  Turns out, a quarter of Metro’s artists had jumped ship in favor of Twin Souls’ new label. So it only made sense that Mac would be willing to cut a deal with someone he could use to fill the dead air.

  Me.

  I was the filler.

  But the dude didn’t count on my loyalty. Yeah, I was an ambitious fuck, but not completely without morals. And it was worth the price of admission to see the look on Mac’s face when I’d told him to hang it out of his ass. After I’d sucked down all his fine whiskey, of course.

  “I don’t know which girl you’re talking about,” I said to Cameron, trying to keep a straight face. “Did Lily happen to take any pictures? I mean, I could probably identify her if I saw—”

  “You’re such a dog,” Cameron replied, shaking his head. But he was smiling too. “Come on. Let’s get this shit done.”

  Sliding his fingers across the fretboard, he launched into our first number. Sean and Christian joined in, and soon there were no more fucks to be given over my meeting with Mac. Time and space were reduced to the next note. The next lyric. The next beat.

  Because in the end, it was all about the music.

  4

  With our last rehearsal out of the way, I decided to tie up a few loose ends before I got too busy packing and doing other shit in preparation for the tour.

  The meeting was already underway when I slipped inside Classroom A at the Austin Recovery Center. Taking a seat in the back, I looked around for my sister.

  Since completing her second stint in rehab a year ago, Laurel had faithfully worked her program. Meetings. A steady job. Family counseling. By all accounts, my sister was well on her way to controlling her addiction. Which eased a lot of my guilt. Not all of it. I couldn’t buy back the years she’d spent in foster care. Or forget that it was my fault she ended up there in the first place.

  When I didn’t spot Laurel in the crowd, I made eye contact with her counselor, an aging hippy who looked to be about seventy, but in reality, was a good ten years younger. Breaking away from the skinny dude he was talking to at the refreshment table, Vaughn headed my way.

  Noting the serious expression etching his weathered features, I pushed to my feet, a pit forming in my stomach. “Hey, Vaughn,” I said in a shaky voice. “Is Laurel around?”

  From my brief scan of the room, I knew she wasn’t here, but still I waited for an answer. Any explanation that didn’t include the word “relapse.”

  Vaughn cocked his head to the side, extending his hand. “Nice to see you, Logan.”

  Patience was never my strong suit, so ripping the answer from his throat crossed my mind. Instead, I slid my palm against his and held my tongue.

  With the formalities out of the way, Vaughn rocked back on his heels. “Laurel isn’t attending meetings here anymore. She didn’t tell you?”

  My natural inclination was to clam up. Handle this on my own. Laurel was my sister. My responsibility. But I’d failed miserably at this before.

  When I found her in Nashville a year and a half ago, strung out and working the pole at a sleazy strip club, I sent her straight to the best rehab in the hill country. Luxury rooms. Private counseling. Massages and gourmet meals.

  Mistakenly, I thought that would fix her. That if I showed enough support and gave her enough love, she’d walk the straight and narrow.

  And then she’d relapsed.

  Even though a second stint in rehab proved successful—and she was now eleven months clean—I lived with the knowledge that the peace my sister found might be temporary.

  Shifting my feet, I looked down. “No, she didn’t.”

  Vaughn squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s step outside.”

  It was then I noticed a couple of people talking behind their hands and pointing.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  We only made it as far as the front office.

  “I don’t think you should jump to conclusions, Logan,” Vaughn said. “I’ve spoken to Laurel, and she told me she just needed to find a meeting place that was closer to home.”

  Which would make sense if I couldn’t see the top of the building where she worked right outside the window.

  “Do you know if she’
s found a place?”

  Vaughn shrugged. “Meetings are anonymous. You know that.”

  Anonymous and completely at Laurel’s discretion. He left that part out, but the subtext was there—I couldn’t make her go.

  Or so he thought.

  I paid a good portion of my sister’s bills. She lived in a nice loft, way out of the price range for a clerical worker. Her car, a late model Mercedes, was in my name. And I arranged to pay half of her grocery bill.

  Yeah, Laurel needed to stand on her own two feet. But we grew up poor, without a mother, in a fucking trailer. And that’s before she ended up in foster care. As long as my sister was doing her best, she’d never want for anything.

  But what if she wasn’t doing her best anymore?

  “Thanks, Vaughn. I won’t jump off the deep end.”

  He nodded, skeptical, but said nothing.

  Affixing my sunglasses, I gave him a little smile and then strode out to my car. As soon as I was behind the wheel, I took out my phone and called my sister. And when she didn’t answer, I pulled out of the parking space and headed straight for her loft.

  “Answer the fucking door,” I growled after ringing Laurel’s doorbell for the second time. “I know you’re in there.”

  My gut told me it was true. And if I had to knock the wood from its hinges to find out, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  My shoulders sank when the lock disengaged. Eyes wide with surprise, my sister peered out through a small gap in the door. “What are you doing here, Lo?”

  Resisting the urge to push my way in, I locked our gazes. “Let me in. I’m not messing around.”

  As she contemplated, I searched her face. Aside from the tension lines bracketing her mouth and the pinched brow, she seemed fine. Except that she was hiding something. And that shit wouldn’t fly.

  When I moved to grab the door handle, Laurel jumped back. Stumbling over the threshold, I scanned the room. It took my brain a moment to register what I saw. Because it couldn’t be true. But it was.