The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1)

by Barbara C. Doyle

  Dylan frowns. He actually frowns.

  Ian laughs at my outburst. “She’s right, guys. If we want to be authentic, we shouldn’t do what everyone else does. We need to stick to who we are.”

  “But I like being naked,” Dylan mutters.

  My jaw ticks. “I’m not taking pictures of you naked, Dylan.”

  He shrugs. “Your loss, sweetheart.”

  I want to reply with something snarky, but Ian cuts me off. “Listen, we need to think of something that will make us stay true to who we are. That means not selling out. We should try doing some group shots, and individual ones. Kind of like a meet-the-band type of thing.”

  “But we’re already past that point,” Bash points out, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed on his chest.

  “So we’ll do something better,” I tell them confidently. “Ian’s right. If you guys want to sell your music, you need to stick to your roots. If you become like every other band, there’s no originality. How will your fans stick around if they think you’re just like other bands? What makes you different than, say, One Direction?”

  They all scoff. “One Direction?” Ian repeats in disgust.

  “They’re not even together anymore,” Ben mentions.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m trying to make a point,” I deadpan. I sigh. “I’m not photographing anybody naked. But …” Dylan perks up at the addition. “I might be willing to do shirtless ones. Only if it’s something that fits you. And, honestly, I can only picture two of you doing that and still sticking to the image you’ve portrayed this whole time.”

  Dylan grins. “You’re talking about me, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dylan. You and Ian.”

  Ian nudges me, smirking. “Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off again?”

  “Seems so, bro,” Bash laughs.

  I shoot them all a glare. “Don’t make me change my mind. I’m helping you out by doing this. And it would look good in a portfolio if I have experience working with you guys. Especially if the shoot is successful.”

  “It will be,” Ian assures.

  I don’t see how he can be so sure.

  “You’ve got talent, Tessa,” he tells me.

  Bash nods. “He’s right. Those photos you took at our welcome back gig last month were awesome. There’s no doubt you can make these ones just as great.”

  I blush from the compliments, nudging my shoe against the cement floor.

  “So what do think about the rest of us?” Ben asks, scooching forward on the couch. “Think you can work your magic on us?”

  I give him a small smile. “I think I can manage.”

  “So when does this go down?” Bash asks.

  “It’ll take a few days to get all the shots I need if we do group shots and separate ones,” I tell them. “Maybe we can start tomorrow? I can get the group shots done, maybe in a few different locations. Some around town, where you guys started off. I’m sure Marty would be cool if we did a few shots in the bar.”

  They all seem to be cool with that.

  “Then,” I continue, plotting in my head, “maybe we can start one by one every day after that. The order doesn’t really matter I suppose.”

  “I call first!” Dylan shouts.

  Ian snorts. “Whatever, man.”

  “I don’t care when mine are done,” Bash tells me, smiling.

  “Same,” Ben agrees.

  That makes it easier. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll let you know when we can get the rest of them done when I have a solid plan.”

  They voice their agreements, which makes me smile. Being able to capture them is making me more excited to work with my photography. Like maybe, just maybe, I can make a career out of it. Something I love. Something to control.

  Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

  Ian gets up and guides me toward the chair he was sitting in. When I’m seated, he turns toward the guys.

  “She needs our help in return,” he informs them.

  Come again? “Uh … I need what?”

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “Consider it a grand gesture to put all those touchy-feely emotions out there. You like Will, right?”

  That seems obvious. Didn’t we have this discussion at the diner? I nod.

  “You love him?”

  If I nod, I’m admitting it. And if I admit it, I don’t know what will happen. Things will change, and I swear I’m as finicky about change as my damn cat.

  I’m willing to do a lot for Will, and that should say enough. But after all this time, all the years of crushing on him, I don’t know what I feel. It’s strong, whatever the feeling. Not as strong as the feeling holding me back from making a move, from letting Ian get what he wants with us. Plus, I’m determined to make sure that I’m ready—strong enough to handle a change in my life and move on from my past.

  “She doesn’t need to,” Bash cuts in, giving me an assuring smile. “It’s written all over your face, Tess.”

  I fight off blushing.

  “Tessa told me earlier that our boy Will is having problems with the family farm again,” he informs the guys, sitting on the arm of the chair I’m in. “I think we should help him. Help them both.”

  I stare at him. “I’m not seeing how this will help me. I mean, I think it’s great you want to help him, given the fact that you two aren’t that close, but … why?”

  The smile he gives me is warm, genuine. A good look on him, quite frankly. “Will might have stopped being my friend, but I never stopped being his. Friends stick together, and I know how much that farm means to him. I say we throw him a benefit, help raise some funds. It may not turn out to be much, but if we get enough publicity out there …”

  It’s actually not a bad idea. “That might just work.”

  Ian shrugs. “I have my good ideas now and again. Although, you’re the mastermind behind it all by telling me. Plus, you’re going to help spread the word. I can’t do it all on my own.”

  Dylan speaks up. “This is all good and dandy, but how is her helping you raise money for his family going to benefit her? I mean, he could just assume that she’s doing it on a friendly level. They’ve been skirting around each other for how long? It needs to be something big that opens his blind eyes.”

  I’m about to defend both Will and I, but Ian decides to jump in before I can. I mean, we haven’t been skirting around each other for that long. Will dated a few times, so it’s not like he pined for me. And me? Well … I’m a different story.

  Ian sighs. “They’re on the outs right now.” He gives me a pointed look. “You didn’t have to tell me for me to know. You didn’t even want him coming to the hospital.”

  Crossing my arms on my chest, I lean back in the chair without saying anything.

  He continues. “Her planning this means something, even if they make up before the benefit.”

  My eyes widen a fraction. How long does he think Will is going to keep avoiding me? Based on when the benefit is, that could be weeks!

  Dylan snickers. “Look at her face.”

  I pick up an empty Mountain Dew can and throw at him. Thankfully, his reflexes suck, so it hits him right upside the head.

  The guys all laugh. I stick my tongue out at him.

  Ian looks to me, chuckling. “I’m not saying you two aren’t going to talk. You’ve had fights before, right?”

  I go to tell him yes, but stop myself. I press my lips together, trying to think of a time when we’ve fought. The problem is, besides arguing over what to watch on TV or where to go to eat on campus, we never really argued.

  And are we arguing now? I’d say him completely avoiding me in every way, shape, and form is beyond arguing. We’re practically on different ends of the planet.

  The question is: why?

  I let out a defeated breath. “No, I guess not.”

  Bash picks the can up from between him and Dylan and puts it on the coffee table in front of them. “It was bound to happen eventually. Guess it’s jus
t your time to have an out.”

  I groan. “But I don’t know what we’re fighting about! He just stopped talking to me!”

  They all look at each other.

  Dylan rubs his hand against his stubbly jaw. “Okay, I can see where that might be confusing.”

  “You need to find out why,” Bash encourages. “He probably thinks it’s worth laying low, whatever it is.”

  “Dudes are idiots,” Ben intervenes. “There might not be a reason beside that.”

  My eyes widen.

  Ian scoffs. “Not helping, dude.”

  Ben just shrugs.

  Ian pulls me in for a quick side hug. “Right now, let’s figure out how to help him. That’s our end goal, right? Besides you two riding off into the sunset together?”

  I blush. I never said I wanted that.

  Ian pulls his phone out of his pocket, and plays around with it for a few minutes. I notice the calendar app pulled up, and his eyes trained on next month’s date.

  “What kind of benefit are you thinking?” I ask slowly, nibbling on my lip. Depending on his plans, this could be a good thing. But I wasn’t sure how much money we could raise in a small town like this, especially in as little time as we have left of the summer.

  Ian slips into the chair, squeezing me to the side of it. He shows me his phone, with a highlighted star next to the August twenty-twelfth date.

  “Oh-kay?”

  “An end of the summer concert,” he says, wearing a proud smile like he just solved all of our problems.

  “Could work I guess,” Ben says slowly, processing the possibility.

  The date is familiar. Then it clicks. “The County Fair! Isn’t this the last day of it?’

  He winks at me. “You got it, Freckles. They wanted Relentless to perform there before we headed back out. I told them no at first, but they said they’d be willing to negotiate.”

  That piques Dylan’s interest. “Negotiate how, exactly? They’ll want proceeds if we do perform. Would hosting the benefit there be worth it?”

  Bash intervenes. “Think about the town,” he points out, nodding along. “We live in a place that takes care of their own. If we tell them about Will’s situation, there’s a good chance they’d be willing to let us do this. Even if they get part of the profit from the ticket sales or something.”

  “We could sell merchandise,” Ian adds, taking his phone back. He goes to the web browser and types something into the URL bar. Their band’s website pops up.

  I gape at all of them, amazed that they’d be so willing to do this. “You’re all willing to let your concert proceeds go to Will?”

  They all nod. Even Ian.

  “Online profits for a set time can even go to the cause,” Ian tells me, showing me the band T-shirts and posters, among other things, showcased on the screen. He scrolls through everything that they have for sale.

  “Won’t your manager have something to say about that?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ian promises.

  A heavy, but warming, feeling fills my heart. A lump forms in the back of my throat as I study their genuine faces.

  Dylan winces. “Oh, shit. She’s about to cry.”

  I want to throw something at him, but I don’t. “I’m just thankful you guys want to help. I know his family is going to really appreciate it. They wouldn’t normally ask for help. Especially not Will.”

  “Which is why he shouldn’t know about this,” Bash concludes.

  My face screws. “Um, how is he not? You guys have been this town’s top news ever since you got back. Anything you do is going to get around.”

  “Plus,” Ben adds, “we’re going to need as many people to know as possible. I don’t know shit about farming, but I know it’s expensive. Our normal sales from concerts would be able to cover a fraction of what they’d probably need. What makes this one any different?”

  Ian puts his arm around me. “Simple. We’ve got a small-town to back us up. How many cities have we been to that’s just a place where people live? When we performed there, the only community vibe I got was from the people who attended the concert. They were all there for a reason—to watch us play. But on the streets? They were just bodies passing by each other. Maybe some who knew each other, but not enough to look up from their screens.”

  “So you’re saying that we’ve got a family to back us up,” I say, sighing.

  He smiles at me. “We’ve got a community.”

  “They are obsessed with us,” Dylan agrees, leaning forward. “This could work, Wells. I’m impressed that your mind is off women long enough to come up with it.”

  He flips Dylan off. “You know damn well how I’ve been spending my time here, Hilton. And it hasn’t been buried in girls like I might have preferred.”

  My brows go up. “Oh?”

  Ben laughs. Out of the group, he’s the quiet one. The wallflower. I can relate to that, especially up against a wildcard like Dylan and the mastermind that is Ian.

  Despite how different they all seem, they work. A pairing that reminds me of how Will and I are … or were. Even though we tend to like different things—for some reason he prefers Superman over Batman, and dogs over cats—we work together in a way people don’t understand.

  Before college we were like the notes on a music sheet, playing in perfect harmony with each other. Creating a melody we didn’t know we needed. Until one day, that day, our ethereal sound turned jarring and cryptic.

  Ever since, we were dancing around each other, me more than him, trying not to cross any lines that would be too much. Maybe if freshman year hadn’t happened, we would have found each other in the way we needed most.

  Found our sound again.

  Sometimes, I hear it. See it. I know it’s there, waiting to be played again.

  Other times, I have no idea if it’ll be the same.

  Ian nudges me out of the worry. “I’m sure you’re shocked that I’m not always calling the numbers women stuff in my pockets, but I’ve got better things to do.”

  I can’t help but probe, because for as long as I can remember, Ian has had the player image attached to his name. He acknowledges it like the cocky ass that he is. “Like …”

  Ian directs his gaze at Bash. “Like help friends when they need them.”

  Bash looks away, a small smile on his lips.

  I study the two of them. “Let me guess,” I tease, poking his side, “you’re playing matchmaker for him, too?”

  “Something like that,” Ian muses, but the grin on his face and tint to his icy eyes say all I need to know.

  “He’s a regular fairy godmother,” Bash snorts.

  Dylan pulls Bash into him, locking his head under his arm. He ruffles Bash’s long hair, making it look like some serious bedhead by the time he’s done.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t appreciate it, Cinderella,” Dylan laughs, letting go of him.

  Bash grumbles something to himself and fixes his hair.

  “All right, children,” Ian declares, standing up and clapping his hands. “We’ve got a concert to plan, and a month to do it. We’ll keep what we’re donating to a secret on the promotions we send out, and try spreading limited word of mouth.”

  He turns to me, offering me a hand up. “You ready to do this, Freckles?”

  “Lead the way, Godmother.”

  I lie to myself.

  Actually, I lie to everyone.

  I just have no interest in trying to sort out my feelings when my head needs to be focused on the farm. Dad insists that I shouldn’t worry—that he and mom will figure it out—but it’s a family problem, and family sticks together.

  That’s what I repeat to myself every time my brain takes me back to Tess. I tell myself I’m too busy to text her, which is ridiculous. Even in between chores and family meetings to figure out what we can sell, I have a solid ten minutes to send her a simple hello.

  But I don’t, because I’m too late.

  I knew that Ian being around would c
hange everything. The whole town is going crazy over him and the rest of the guys, and it’s annoying. Everywhere you go it’s about Relentless. There’s posters, people talking, songs playing from the store radios.

  And now he has the one thing I want.

  Which probably makes me selfish, because I didn’t always want that. Want her. When I did realize it, it wasn’t worth anything. I made my choices, made my own bed. I had to deal with that, lay in it.

  I saw this coming from a mile away—not my delayed realization, but her moving on. Everybody told me it would happen, but why should I care? I thought I didn’t. That I wouldn’t.

  If you don’t somebody else will, Ian once told me.

  Guess he thought he was the guy for the job after all.

  Tess has always loved the music Relentless plays, even when they just did covers during their first few practices. Journey came on? Tess would sing along. Def Leppard? Don’t even get me started.

  I swear, Ian would choose to play “Pour Some Sugar on Me” just to see the inner stripper come out of her.

  Her parent’s house isn’t that far away from his, so band practice could easily be seen and heard from her bedroom window. Even when Ian and I were friends, she wouldn’t go over right away. She always felt like she was invading on our guy time.

  What she didn’t know, what I should have told her, was that I wanted her there. Every. Single. Time. But life is full of should-have and what-if moments.

  Next thing you know, you’re screwing yourself over and watching your ex best guy friend kissing your current best friend through the diner window.

  Life has a way of kicking a guy when he’s down—a strike right to the balls. And as if that’s not bad enough, it makes you repeat the damn image in your head like a broken record.

  Torture. It’s pure torture.

  I stare at the cat-shaped chocolate sitting on my desk, my death glare trying to melt it. I found it at the dollar store, and instantly knew I needed to buy it for Tess.

  I mean, if there’s something she loves just as much as cats, it’s chocolate. The combination is purrfect. (Jesus, now I’m starting to think like her.)

  I debate on taking it back, getting back my whole two dollars and sixteen cents. It’s pocket change, no big money spent, but it’s a reminder of something that I let slip through my fingers.