Limelight (NSB Book 4)

by Alyson Santos

  “Yep. Tickets were open so a lot of these seats are our fans.”

  I nod. Our fans—just not Mila. Two thousand minus one is way less than 1,999.

  My palms are slick and heavy as I shove them in the back pockets of my jeans.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  It’s my heart this time, strangling out evidence of the fear I’ve gotten so good at hiding. From the outside, I may look profound. But my skeleton knows the terror.

  Thump.

  And like the pro I am, I put it away when we take the stage. Under bright lights and murky haze I can hide from anything. A show, right? Stage smiles, stage energy, and stage seduction. Look, but don’t touch. Lust, but don’t feel. Burn hot for the man no one can handle, including himself.

  And I do. Burn. Seduce. Give the audience all and nothing because no one wants everything. They’re here for the fantasy, to escape their ghosts and demons and shadows. I am slave and master.

  Two women crowd the stage, their exposed, writhing bodies oozing Desire. I toss a wink to satisfy them. Another girl sways in a deep trance. She’s here for release and gets a smile when our eyes connect. The dude to her left receives a nod for his supportive fist pumps.

  Sex god, counselor, prophet. I can be anything for the hours I belong to them.

  Then the lights go out. The crowd goes home, needs met, fantasy fulfilled. I step off the stage, headed back to the basement.

  Back to the real Jesse Everett.

  Back to nothing.

  ∞∞∞

  “That was sick.”

  “Great crowd.”

  “Let’s get wrecked. Where’s the beer?”

  “Check this out!”

  Traitor, faker, promise-breaker.

  “Is that tuna salad?”

  “Sweet! Look at this!”

  “Are you fucking dense?”

  “Know what I miss?”

  Fluorescent lights blast from above.

  Echoes bounce from the tiled floor.

  Should be

  Won’t be

  Unless she collects

  the lies she tells

  I press my eyes shut.

  An explosion of laughter.

  Ha ha—cackle.

  Ha ha.

  Keep checkin’ for clues, cuz I refuse your bait

  “Jess, you have to see this!”

  “It’s not tuna. What is wrong with you?”

  “Reee-eeece!”

  “It’s—”

  “Dude, did you see—”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  Not bright enough to see my scars

  Just enough to

  That knife you hold is so damn pretty

  “Hellooo. Jess?”

  I shake my head.

  Words. Inside. Outside.

  Blinding lights.

  Racing pulse.

  I can’t breathe.

  My reaction time is lacking

  No backtracking now…

  “Be right back,” I force out, stumbling toward the exit.

  I rush from the green room, down the hall, to the right. Another left, several more steps, and I feel safe to rest my forehead against the cool metal of lockers.

  Breathe.

  In. Out.

  My hands pat my jeans for a sign of impending relief. Just one small lump will do, but they come up empty. I’m out. Fuck Mila. Fuck Chris. They’ll never understand why I run, and now I have to face this attack alone.

  Breathe.

  A fucking god beneath the fraud

  She said

  She said

  So damn pretty

  It’s all right.

  It’s all right in the candle—

  “Omigod, Jesse Everett?”

  “Ahh! Will you sign this for us?”

  Fuck! Not now. No no no.

  I open my eyes and twist toward the voices. Both intruders are young, cute, and decorated with every sign they intend to fuck a rock star tonight. Their grins say it’s time to cash in, and my dick wants to escape my head at the moment.

  Fuck!

  “How did you get back here?”

  “We know our way around.”

  Shit. “Are you students here?”

  “Please.” She takes a bold step into my personal space. “We graduated last year.”

  “We’re over eighteen,” the other assures me, joining her friend.

  Gusts of girl scent wash over me and fill my head with sex. My body reacts on instinct—I don’t want this nearly as much as I need it.

  Escape. Comes in multiple forms.

  No backtracking now that you’ve got me on the prowl

  I’m looking at you

  Traitor

  Shut up!

  Breathe.

  “Great. So what do you want signed?”

  She holds out… panties? Is there a cliché they haven’t researched?

  They giggle while I scribble my signature like thousands of times before. On panties, bras, bare skin.... I won’t remember them like they hope.

  “You were so good tonight.” Her hand rests on my shoulder. Slides down my arm.

  “So good.” Her friend is pressed against me.

  “Thanks.”

  “We were hoping… you know, if you wanted to unwind a bit?”

  “See the area?”

  “There are lots of great clubs.”

  In Lancaster? No.

  “Appreciate it, but....”

  A palm shoves into my chest and pins me against the wall. Blood pounds with violent need when she pulls a bag from her purse. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

  My gaze locks on the contents. Salvation. Escape. Hope that never lasts.

  I’m no god, just a piece of hell

  A fraud

  Too hazy for a spotlight

  Hot lips latch onto my neck. Fingers surge down my abs, wrestle with my belt buckle, a stubborn button. The one latched to my arm suddenly cups my hand over an eager breast. With a gasp, she leans into the contact, guiding my fingers. Pressure builds against the zipper of my jeans.

  Fading pain. Escape.

  “Let’s go somewhere.”

  “Please, baby?”

  Painted nails trace the bag over my skin.

  Take it.

  Escape.

  Run to the clouds.

  Forget.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  I clench my eyes shut.

  Do it!

  Everyone leaves!

  Run to the clouds.

  Everyone leaves.

  Everyone.

  A crystal stare flashes through my mind.

  STOP RUNNING.

  My back stiffens.

  Stop running.

  What if I can’t?

  I crush my fingers into fists. “I can’t.”

  You can’t what?

  What?!

  “C’mon, baby. Party with us.”

  Pale yellow pills scream from her palm.

  One last time.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Destined for rejection, binding imperfections, nothing but objections

  They said, they said

  “I have to get back.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  I shake my head. I don’t. I do. My pulse hammers.

  Stop running.

  What if I can?

  I push away from the wall. A hand grabs my arm and jerks me back.

  “I believe he said he wasn’t interested. Thank you for understanding.”

  I freeze.

  Wouldn’t be if not for helping hands that cower under streetlights

  The apparition in my brain stands a few yards away. Smooth dark waves reflect light in a crown. Penetrating eyes cut through my chest, straight to my lungs. I pull in a painful breath.

  “Mila.”

  My legs move first, the vacuum of her absence sucking me toward her. No thoughts, no plan because I’m completely consumed.

  I’ll trade a slap for a touch.

 
; Her gaze is on mine. So many questions. So many fears. Hope? Not yet, but not despair either. I pull her in, breathe her for whatever seconds she’ll allow before remembering what I am.

  Instead of a slap, her arms tighten around me. Her breath against my neck warms my entire body, and the blood that resisted two gushing fangirls explodes for the woman who will never worship me.

  “I missed you so much.” My voice cracks. She makes me want to…

  Stop running.

  “I missed you too.”

  Fuck etiquette.

  I guide her toward the wall and devour the lips I’ve been craving. She meets my attack, hungry palms shoving up my chest and locking around my neck. Her hips rock against me, and I wedge her against the wall.

  “You said no to them,” she breathes through our kiss.

  “I want to stop running. Help me stop?”

  She pulls back, fingers framing my face. I let her look, let her see my sincerity, my pain, my shattered mess of a soul that had no chance two minutes ago.

  “Then we stop.” She states it, makes it more than a possibility. Tears shine in her eyes. My beautiful rock, my witness, my champion ready to fight.

  “How?”

  “We go to the people who know.”

  The muscles in my shoulders constrict. “You mean Jonas?”

  Her eyes soften. “I mean whomever and whatever we need.”

  With a hard swallow, I tear my gaze away.

  Not bright enough to see my scars. Just enough to…

  The hallway is empty when I look. The girls are gone, and with them...

  No escape.

  I made a choice I’m not strong enough to make.

  Oh god, what am I doing?

  I can’t. I can’t.

  She won’t forgive me when I fuck up again.

  She’ll leave.

  They’ll all leave.

  Everyone leaves.

  Thump. Thump. Thump

  Breathe.

  What have you done?!

  “You okay, babe?”

  “Of course.” Her gaze is too intense to believe my smile. I push it brighter. “Let’s go find the guys. We’re overdue for a band meeting.”

  “You sure?”

  I throw my arm around her shoulders and start guiding us... away.

  Attractive fraud, where’s your army now to defend the legend that only exists in

  Could have beens

  Would have beens

  Should. Have. Beens.

  “Jesse?”

  My heart races, with fear, guilt. A mind reader? “Yeah?”

  “That new song.” Her eyes fill as she reaches up to take my hand resting on her shoulder. The way she squeezes… “It’s amazing. What’s it called?”

  I glance over. Draw in a deep breath.

  “‘Agitator.’”

  21: HEA

  Life is rosy now. Happily ever after and all that shit.

  Oh wait, no. That was the stupid cable movie Derrick made us watch because it had some chick from his high school in it.

  My life? Fucking sucks.

  Even my ocean ceiling mocks me from its perch. Majestic art to crappy paint job. Well done, sobriety.

  “Brought you some coffee. You hungry?”

  I try for a smile, manage a muttered “thanks.”

  Mila has that look as she hands me a mug. She understands, and she doesn’t. Sympathetic and pissed as my head pounds and tries to ignore her.

  “The lads are waiting for you in the rehearsal room.”

  “It’s not even…” I check the time on my phone. Shit.

  “The wedding is in three weeks. You need to finalize your set. I’ve been in touch with the coordinator about logistics. They’re going to take care of you.”

  “Great.”

  “Jess.”

  I swing my legs to the floor and force myself up. “I’m gonna shower then head over.”

  Lips that are usually so kissable press into thin lines as I strip and make my way to the bathroom.

  “Have you rung that counselor yet?” she shouts through the door I didn’t close fast enough.

  Water thunders from the tub faucet.

  “I will,” I call back, pulling the lever to force the stream through the ancient showerhead. Can we do a bathroom remodel for twenty-six grand?

  “You’ve been saying that for a week now!”

  I pretend her intense volume is so I hear it over the pound of the shower when I step in, not her anger. Eyes closed, heart thrashing against my ribs, it feels good not to breathe.

  Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. My chest burns. Thirty, Thirty-five.

  Thirty-six.

  Thirty-seven.

  If I never breathed again…

  If I never breathed again.

  Five

  Four

  Three

  Two

  One more second to break.

  I step back and gasp in a torrent of humid air.

  Amazing.

  The far portion of the curtain shoves back, blasting me with icy air.

  “What the hell?”

  “The deal was, I come back and you get help. I came back. When are you going through with your side of the bargain, Jess?”

  She’s pissed, but it doesn’t stop her gaze from traveling over my body. I lean back and wring my hands through my hair to give her a full view.

  “And I haven’t used since you’ve been back.”

  Her arms fold across her chest.

  Fine, let’s play. Shampoo next. I work the lather through my hair, trying not to smirk at the thought of every cheesy softcore movie I’ve seen. By her expression, Mila isn’t amused.

  “You can ignore me, but I’m not going away.”

  “No? Can you do my back then?” I ask, eyes closed as I rinse the suds from my hair.

  “You’re being a wanker.”

  Damn she’s cute. I keep that to myself.

  “Mila, I’m fine.”

  I’m guessing she’s even more irritated that she can’t stop watching me rub soap over my skin. Maybe I have a future in porn? I keep that to myself also.

  “Really? You woke up terrified again last night. That’s fine?”

  My shrug gets lost in the violence of my rinse. I’m done playing porn god.

  “I know you can hear me.”

  I yank the faucet handle. “Pass me the towel?”

  “Not until you talk to me.”

  I reach past her and grab it.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I’m not a junkie. Look at me.” I hold out my arms. “Fine.”

  “What do you know about PTSD?”

  “Oh fuck me.” I step out, shove past her, and wrap a towel around my waist. I don’t remember my room being so far from the bathroom.

  “You’re a textbook case, Jesse Everett!”

  I shake my head, cold droplets of water spraying folded clothes as I hunt through a drawer.

  “The nightmares? The flashbacks? The panic attacks? You survived some serious trauma and you—”

  “Just. Stop.” The fire in my stare halts her barrage. “I said I’d call, okay?”

  I’m not lying. I will call. Doesn’t mean shit because she has no fucking clue about the trauma I’ve survived. Neither will the name on that useless piece of paper. I’m not using. I’m not running. You won. Take your trophy and leave me alone.

  Her gaze turns hot as she reads my mental tirade. “Coffee’s ready,” she snaps and storms to the kitchen.

  Air releases from my chest in a long exhale.

  Abuse her, use her, refuse her love.

  You’re going to lose her.

  Traitor, faker.

  Wanker.

  This one makes me smile. And feel like shite.

  “Mila.” I stumble toward the kitchen while I work my legs into a pair of boxer-briefs.

  She straightens from behind the fridge door, eyes brutal with indignation.

  “You’re
right, okay? I’ll call after rehearsal.”

  Her expression relaxes into a hope I can’t stomach.

  “This afternoon?”

  “Yes.” I close the gap and shut the door. Securing her face with my palms, I search her eyes. “I promise.”

  To call.

  To play the part until everyone believes.

  “Thank you.”

  Those kissable lips finally use their power and harden my body into a carnal distraction. I kiss her back, losing my fingers in her hair as hers spread fire over my skin. Sorcery it is, the way every muscle responds to her and tightens in her hands. I groan when her grip on my ass shoves our hips together.

  “The guys are waiting.” She teases my lower lip with a gentle bite, torments the rest with a cruel grind that shoves me against the fridge.

  Fu-uck.

  “Just some inspiration?” Am I begging? I force her grin to a gasp. We both gasp.

  “Maybe if… ah, Jess.” Her head falls back, eyelids fluttering in the most poetic plea.

  “What’s that, babe?”

  “Ahh.”

  Yeah, I don’t stop. Not sure I could if I wanted to. I flip us around and trap her against the stainless steel. Her hands slide up, grasping the edge of the freezer door as I slide down. Down. Slowly. Slower than she wants by the way her hips buck against my grip. I hold her steady with one hand and clear a path of bare skin with the other.

  “Jess, just…”

  “Just what?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “I’m ready, okay?”

  “For?”

  “Stop being a twat.”

  “Not a wanker?”

  “That as well.”

  I grin up at her, brush my lips along the edges of some seriously erotic satin panties. My girl, so strong and confident in her desire. There’s nothing hotter than being her prey.

  Hate her.

  Love her.

  I burn for her.

  Fire.

  Heavy choir of flame

  Dire anthem of consuming fate

  Writhing in mutual desire

  Burn, my candle. Blaze into demanding…

  She gasps out a moan of pleasure.

  Burn, my candle.

  I push her through another.

  “Oh god, Jess.” Her hands rake through my hair.

  Burn.

  Burn.

  She collapses against the door in desperate appeals for air.

  Burn.

  Sear away the pain that remains

  Of those ghosts from hell

  Bent on drawing blood

  Over and over and over and.

  Over.

  I close my eyes. Pull her into my arms on the cold tile floor.