Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1)

by Julia London

  Figured. “Okay, well . . .” Brennan cast his arms out. “You’ve got me. Here’s your opportunity to lay into me.”

  “Dude, I don’t want to lay into you,” Chance said. He reached for a backpack on the ground and sat down on a concrete bench. He withdrew two beers and held one out to Brennan. Brennan hesitated. “Come on, don’t be a pussy,” Chance said. “We’ve always resolved our differences over a couple of beers.”

  Brennan couldn’t help but smile. Chance was right. He took a beer from his old friend. “Are we going to rehash the same old stuff?” Brennan asked. “Because if we are, I don’t have anything to add to what I’ve already told you.”

  “Okay,” Chance said. “I’m willing to start from scratch if you are.”

  Brennan didn’t have much confidence that this would be anything but another heated and protracted discussion that went in circles.

  But Chance knew him well. “Dude, we’ve been friends for more than twenty years,” he said.

  “Best friends,” Brennan conceded.

  Chance tilted his head to one side and considered Brennan. He twisted the top of his beer and took a long swig, then said, “Let me ask you something. Do you ever think of Trey?”

  The question was a fist to Brennan’s gut. He swallowed hard against the swell of emotions. In true guy form, he and Chance rarely talked about Trey now. For Brennan, and he suspected for Chance, talking about Trey was too painful. “All the time,” he said hoarsely.

  “Me too,” Chance said. “I wonder what Trey would say to us now.”

  Brennan didn’t even have to think about it. He smiled wryly. “He would have been completely useless, Chance. You know that.”

  Chance chuckled. “You’re right. He was never good for anything but drums.”

  Brennan sat down on the bench beside his best friend. “I miss the shit out of him. I miss talking to him.” He swallowed again, this time to hold back a burn of tears in his eyes. He looked to the ocean and squinted. “This won’t make any sense, but sometimes, I think he bailed on us. Chose the easier path.”

  Chance didn’t say anything for a moment. “Me too,” he admitted.

  “You know, the last time I saw him in Palm Springs, he asked me if this was all there is.” Brennan made himself look at Chance. “If what we’d accomplished with Tuesday’s End was all there was to life. And you know what? I didn’t have an answer for him.”

  “What would be the answer to that?” Chance asked. “No one can fault us for pursuing a dream. A lot of people don’t get that opportunity, a lot of people are stuck in boring jobs and yeah, that’s all there is. But if you ask me, it’s what you make of it.”

  Brennan couldn’t disagree. Maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong. He hadn’t made the best of a good thing. The two of them sat silently, staring out over the ocean, sipping from the beers. After a few minutes, Chance asked, “Are we really going to pull Tuesday’s End apart?”

  “I don’t know,” Brennan said honestly. “That’s not what I want. But I can’t keep up the touring, and I can’t do pop. It’s not in me.”

  “We make good money on tour,” Chance reminded him. “That’s the gig now for bands like us. You know as well as I do that record sales aren’t what they used to be.”

  “We don’t need money. We’re rich as shit,” Brennan countered.

  “Yeah, well I’m trying to keep us relevant while we figure things out. The commercial market moves too fast these days, and I still want to make a living.”

  “I know, I know,” Brennan said, sighing. “I’m trying, Chance, I swear to you that I am. But I’m tired of not having a life. I can’t write on the road. I need time and space to think. I need to listen to music and read books and sit here and look at the ocean for a few days before I can write. I need to think about Trey, and I can’t do it from one sound check to the next. Do you realize in the last month of our tour, we had four days off?”

  “It was a sonofabitch,” Chance agreed.

  They drank some more. Memories of them as young men, finding their fame, came floating back to Brennan. Every day had been a new discovery. Every gig a high. “Remember how simple things used to be?” he asked.

  Chance snorted. “When we were writing songs in your room?”

  “Yeah,” Brennan said and smiled at Chance. “And when we began to get some play. We’ve had an incredible journey, haven’t we?” It was true that the three boys who had started Tuesday’s End were determined. They’d studied, they’d listened, they’d experimented. They’d go to school during the day, then play dive joints for no money at night. A few times, they even scraped together money to pay clubs to let them play. They played to empty houses. They were booed, they were cheated. But the desire to make music was in them, and they kept going back for more, because they shared that burning desire to be heard.

  Brennan and Chance had talked about it before, but neither of them could really pinpoint when things had begun to change, when they’d begun to play to packed houses instead of a few old barflies. Then they were playing small theaters. Then arenas and stadiums. They’d blown up. They’d become a huge name, selling millions of records. They’d won Grammys, they’d been on the covers of magazines.

  How had it all happened?

  “We did it all, Bren,” Chance said. “And we’re still doing it. What’s the alternative? Soundtracks?”

  “So I guess Gary told you everything,” Brennan sighed. “Is that so bad?”

  “It ain’t us, man,” Chance said, holding his gaze. “It’s not what Tuesday’s End does.”

  “Not before now. But why shouldn’t we?”

  “It’s not commercial,” Chance said emphatically. “That’s the lane we have to be in. Commercial.”

  “But it could be commercial. And even if there was no possibility of it, you really have no idea what we are capable of until we try.”

  Chance clenched his jaw. He stood up and walked several feet forward to the edge of the pool. “You’re just like Trey,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  Chance turned around to him. “Do I even get a say?” he asked stiffly, jabbing himself in the chest. “Do you have any respect for my career? For my life? Neither did Trey, man. He didn’t care about either one of us. All he cared about was that fucking needle.”

  Brennan pushed his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. Chance was the one solid relationship he’d had in his life and it hurt him to have this discussion. It was like the crumbling of a marriage. He couldn’t keep Chance at arm’s length—they’d been through too much together. “I care, Chance. But you have to see where I’m at, man. I can’t keep doing shit that makes me so unhappy just for you.”

  “But I should do what makes me unhappy for you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Chance clenched his fist and banged it against his thigh. “You know as well as I do that if I left, Tuesday’s End could find another lead guitar. But without you, we’re not Tuesday’s End. It’s not that easy for the rest of us.”

  “I know,” Brennan quietly admitted. He’d always known that. Tuesday’s End without Everett Alden was just a good band. It wasn’t fair, but it was reality.

  Chance looked like he wanted to punch a wall. He looked out to the ocean once more and shook his head. “So where are we?”

  “Right now we are sitting at Kate Resnick’s house. Think about it, Chance. It could be a very cool collaboration.”

  “And the band?”

  Brennan didn’t say anything; he held Chance’s gaze.

  Chance’s face mottled with anger. “You know what, Bren? Fuck you,” he said, and strode away from him. But he paused at the door and turned back. “Here’s something else for you to chew on. Trey was a coward. That’s all he ever was—a coward. He asked questions to cover up for the fact that he didn’t have the balls to get clean. Don’t turn him into some fucking saint.” He turned around and disappeared inside.

  Brennan closed his eyes and buried his fa
ce in his hands. His eyes burned with unshed tears; his throat felt thick. He swallowed again, this time against a swell of nausea. This was ridiculously hard. After twenty years, this was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, the closest he’d ever come to a true broken heart. He loved Chance like a brother. Chance and Trey had been there for him when his world imploded when he was a boy, and he’d come to love Chance more than he’d loved anyone else. Brennan didn’t want to hurt him; he’d rather cut his own throat than hurt Chance. He owed Chance the truth. He owed himself the truth.

  Was this all there was? Did we all learn to love someone only so we could hurt them?

  And then Mia’s face flashed in his mind’s eye. The bottle fell from Brennan’s hand and broke on the concrete at his feet. He folded his arms and bent over, feeling physically ill.

  Trey wasn’t the coward. He was.

  Twenty-one

  Jesse loved Mia’s dress. He kept grinning, eyeing her up and down, practically salivating. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Did you make it?”

  “Yes.” It was sky blue with a fuchsia underskirt. It was simple but prim with a sweet Peter Pan collar and cap sleeves. She’d made the dress from satin and double gauze, and it flowed around her. When she walked, hints of fuchsia flashed around the hem. It was a tea-length dress, because Mia assumed that was the length one wore to a fancy wedding. She wouldn’t know. She’d never been to a fancy wedding.

  She’d even put her hair up in a chignon and stuck some crystal pins in it, borrowed some heels from Emily, and donned a necklace with a heart charm that dangled at her throat, a gift from her grandmother when she turned sixteen. She was trying to be what she thought Jesse wanted her to be.

  But she hated it. Loathed it.

  This was something Emily would wear, but not Mia Lassiter, and Mia felt like a fraud. An empty ghost of the woman she’d been just a week ago. The woman who had naively believed a summer person.

  “Are you ready?” Jesse asked eagerly. He was dressed in a dark-blue suit. His tie was a little crooked, and his shoes had rubber soles, but he looked quite handsome. Any woman would be thrilled to be his date. But Mia was numb to him. She was numb to everything. She was so heartbroken, so disillusioned, that it took everything she had to muster a smile.

  “I’m ready,” she said. She left her phone on the counter in the same spot it had been sitting for hours now. The calls and texts from Brennan kept piling up. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind. She was furious with him. She was stunned by him. Mia still couldn’t wrap her mind around it—she’d been sleeping with a famous rock star and hadn’t had a fucking clue. But he’d known it, and he’d allowed her to be so completely clueless. Honestly, Mia didn’t know what to make of it. Why would he do it? She thought—hoped—that she meant something to him. She thought she was at least someone who deserved to know that truth. Frankly, Mia was afraid to talk to him, afraid of the things that would come tumbling out of her mouth that she couldn’t take back. But at the moment, she feared she would only burst into tears when she heard his voice, and she was not going to give him that.

  Jesse didn’t seem to notice that Mia was in another world on the way to the wedding. He chatted as if everything were fine, as if the world hadn’t just imploded under Mia’s feet.

  They arrived at the church just in time to be seated. The wedding was okay, Mia supposed, but she didn’t know the couple and couldn’t connect with the vows they were making. She felt like she was watching the ceremony from afar. As if it were on television. There were bows on the pews of the church, sprays of flowers at the altar. The bridesmaids—an astounding eight of them—wore long satin dresses with wraps that made Mia inwardly cringe. It was a perfectly lovely wedding all in all, but so . . . ordinary. So lacking in artistry.

  Or was that her bitterness talking?

  At the wedding reception, Jesse was more animated than usual, helped along by a few glasses of champagne. He was jovial as he introduced her to a group of his friends.

  “Mia Lassiter,” said his friend Kevin. “Hey . . . you’re that girl from high school,” he said.

  Mia swallowed down a lump of trepidation and forced a smile.

  “Kevin Bowman, remember me?” he said. He was round, with a receding hairline. Mia had to look very closely to see anything familiar. “Oh yeah, Kevin,” she said. Her palms were turning damp. Had he been on the beach that night?

  “You look great,” he said, his gaze sliding down her body.

  “Thank you.” She wondered if he was remembering the word freak painted across her body.

  “So get this,” Jesse said, leaning in, his arm going around Mia. “You know who bought the Ross house, right?”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “Everett Alden from Tuesday’s End.”

  Mia was stunned. She looked at Jesse. How long had he known?

  But Jesse had an audience and didn’t notice her. “Dude, can you believe it? I’ve been working up there and I didn’t know who he was. I mean, he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, you know?”

  Skylar. Of course Skylar had told him. She’d probably run up and down Main Street, from coffee shop to bistro, telling everyone she knew that Everett Alden was at Ross house.

  “Man, that is awesome.” Kevin said. “You should get an autograph or something. That band is hot. I love that song “Soldier Black.”

  Jesse grinned down at Mia. “Did you know?”

  She was certain she heard a twinge of accusation in his voice, as if he believed she’d been holding out on him. “No,” she said. “I had no idea. I generally listen to classical music, so I’m not really up on the popular bands.”

  “Yeah, I’m a country guy myself. I bet he’s here for that damn music festival,” Jesse said. “There was a lot of talk in the beginning about drawing a big headliner.”

  “They got that new band, Whittaker,” Kevin said. “But Everett Alden would be bigger. So what’s he like?”

  Jesse looked at Mia.

  “Oh, ah . . . well.” She furrowed her brow. He’s sexy. He listens to me. He understands what I mean when I talk about art. He’s a liar. He’s a user. He used me. She shrugged. “He’s arrogant.”

  “He doesn’t seem so arrogant to me,” Jesse said. “Seems really down with things.”

  Mia was surprised by that—she had the very distinct impression that Jesse didn’t like Brennan.

  “You know who was here last summer?” Kevin asked. “That actress. You know the one . . .”

  Jesse and Kevin began to chat about the celebrities who had appeared around East Beach while Mia privately stewed. She was angry with Skylar for telling everyone. Angry with Brennan—or Everett, whoever the hell he was—for lying to her. She had to see his eyes, his face when she confronted him about the lies. She wanted to see that moment of shock just before she punched him hard in the jaw.

  The dancing started and Jesse grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, shaking his head when she tried to protest. “It’s a wedding for Chrissakes. Of course you have to dance.”

  They didn’t really dance, just sort of swayed from side to side. Jesse wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Mia smiled self-consciously. She felt nothing. Not a single spark. Not a shiver, not a swell. Nothing. She thought of the way Brennan kissed her, and how she felt like an inferno the moment his lips touched hers.

  In fact, all she could think about as she danced with Jesse was the way Brennan touched her, and how he moved with her, and the sounds of pleasure he made in bed with her. The memory made her shiver, and when she did, Jesse pulled her closer.

  It was awful to be with one man and think of another. It was the worst sort of purgatory.

  After the dance, Mia met more of Jesse’s friends and acquaintances, including the bride and groom. They had more champagne, and Mia began to feel warm and fluid. She was attracted to the paper birds hanging from the ceiling of the ballroom, amused by them.

  O
ne of the bridesmaids commented on Mia’s dress. “It’s really pretty. Where’d you get it?”

  “I made it,” Mia said.

  “You’re kidding! You made that? I always wished I could sew,” the girl said. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Mia said.

  When the bridesmaid wandered away, Jesse grinned at her. He bent his head, his mouth next to her ear. “See?”

  “See what?”

  “Normal. It wins every time.” He winked.

  Horrified, Mia stared back at him.

  “What? I’m just saying, you look so hot and sexy tonight.”

  “Because I look normal?” she asked evenly.

  Jesse’s smile faded. “I’m just talking about tonight, Mia.”

  There it was, her problem with Jesse. He was a great guy, a handsome guy. Everyone loved Jesse! But Jesse didn’t get her. He didn’t understand her at all. He was attracted to her, yes. But he wanted her to fit into the mold of the woman that inhabited his head, and Mia knew, unequivocally, that if she dated him, this idea of normal would become a bigger and bigger issue between them.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, and thrust her empty champagne flute into his hand.

  “Don’t be mad,” Jesse said, then muttered something under his breath.

  Mia walked away in her tea-length dress and her Peter Pan collar. She had every intention of going into the ladies room and splashing water on her face to sober up, but she happened to see the wedding planner and veered in her direction.

  “Excuse me, do you have scissors I could borrow? There is a tag in my dress that is driving me nuts.”

  “I think I do,” the woman said, and squatted down by a large tote box and rummaged around. She stood up, holding a small pair of scissors. “Just put them in here when you’re done.”

  “Thanks!” Mia went into the bathroom. In the handicap stall, she removed her dress. She hung it on the purse hook and stood, swaying a little, clicking the scissors open and shut. “You’re crazy, Mia,” she muttered, then leaned down and cut the dress off above the knee. Next, she cut out the demure little collar and gave it a more daring décolletage. And with the fabric she’d removed, she wove a belt. When she donned the dress, it came to mid thigh, and she’d cut the neck so low that the top of her lacy black bra was visible.