Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  Her eyebrows shoot up again. “But you noticed with Bria. That must mean she’s important to you.” She laughs and gives me a hug. “My boy, it’s time you let yourself be happy.”

  “It’s complicated, Mom. There’s more to it.”

  “More to it than letting go of the past?”

  “I have the band to think about.” I tell her about the addendum Jeremy made us sign.

  She smiles. “So it’s even more serious than I thought.”

  “Nothing is serious.”

  “So you haven’t written any songs about her?”

  I glance at the notebook. “I write songs about everything.”

  “Everything important to you.”

  I sigh and gaze out the window.

  “She’d want this,” Mom says. “Abby. She’d want this for you. She loved you, Chris. If the tables were turned, would you want her to live her life drowning in the past?”

  I shake my head.

  “You know what you need to do?” she says. “Do what you do best. Write a song about it.”

  I pound a fist on my notebook. “I’ve written several. This morning at Bria’s place, we wrote one about when we sing together.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You need to write a song for Abby. You need to let her go.”

  I close my eyes. “I’ve tried a hundred times.”

  “So maybe the hundred and first time will be the one.”

  I hear the door open and Gary appears. “Hey there, Chris. Nice to see you coming around again.”

  “Hi, Gary.”

  I like my stepdad, maybe even more than I like my biological dad. I’m not sure if Dad got used to seeing me less and less, and out of sight was out of mind, but Gary has always made me feel like I’m one of his kids. He has three with his ex-wife. He’s a cool dude.

  “When are we going to hear a Reckless Alibi song on the radio?” he asks.

  “Soon, I hope. We’re meeting with our rep next week.”

  “Looking forward to it. Stay for dinner?”

  I shake my head. “No. I have an apology to make.”

  Mom stands and kisses me on the cheek. “Now that’s the boy I raised.”

  I pick up my notebook and go to the door. “See you guys later.”

  On the subway ride back to Bria’s, I see a mother with her toddler. She’s trying to entertain her son by playing peek-a-boo. “I see you,” she says. Then she covers and uncovers her ears. “I hear you.”

  Inspiration strikes, and I open the notebook and scribble a few words.

  Can you see me, can you hear me

  From wherever you are now

  The toddler giggles and my attention is drawn back to them. I watch closely, getting lost in their game. Before I know it, I’m at Bria’s stop.

  I stand in front of her building, wondering what I should say to her. It starts to come to me in a song, but I shake it off. This is one time I have to man up and not hide behind my lyrics.

  I call her from the street. “Hey, it’s me. Can I come up?”

  There’s a long pause. I’ve taken her by surprise. “Okay. Be right there.”

  It takes her much longer to come down than it took this morning. Clearly, she’s not in any hurry to see me. God, I’m such a dick.

  The door opens. “Hey,” she says.

  “Hey.”

  She goes up the stairs and I follow. She left her apartment door open again. “Did we not talk about this six hours ago?” I’m reading her the riot act as we go inside. There’s a man on her couch—a big fucking guy—and I shut up mid-sentence.

  My spine stiffens and my gut twists. Then I realize she wouldn’t have invited me up if she was getting it on with someone else. There’s an FDNY emblem on the breast pocket of his T-shirt.

  He stands and offers me his hand. “Brett Cash. It’s nice to know there’s someone else looking out for my sister.”

  “I, uh, … Chris Rewey. Call me Crew. Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. “I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

  He laughs. “You have my permission as the overbearing older brother to yell at her anytime her safety is involved.”

  I don’t miss Bria’s eye roll.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back another time.”

  “No need,” he says. “I was just leaving.” He goes to the door. “I’m a big fan of your music, by the way, and not just because you hired Bria. It’s good. I think you really have something.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  He hugs Bria. “We all should go to dinner sometime.”

  I lift my chin at him as he closes the door. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to run him off.”

  “He was on his way out anyway.”

  “Yeah, I can see that by the way he was relaxing on your couch.”

  She doesn’t laugh. “Why are you here, Crew? I’m not sure I’m up for working on another song today. Can’t we pick it up tomorrow?”

  “I came to apologize.”

  She stares at me, waiting.

  “I shouldn’t have run out like that.” I motion between us. “This scares me for reasons I can’t talk about. But I like you, and I shouldn’t have left with zero explanation. The thing is, though, I can’t tell you for sure it won’t happen again. I’m … I’m kind of a fucked-up mess, in case you haven’t figured it out by now. I’m not sure if that was a real apology or not. I suck at this. I’m sorry, that’s all.”

  Finally, a smile appears. Damn, I love her smile. I could write a song about it.

  “You don’t suck at this,” she says. “And I’m kind of a fucked-up mess myself.”

  “Not like I am.” I glance at the picture of her mom on the wall. “Sorry. I shouldn’t presume to know how you feel.” I laugh. “I’m apologizing a lot today. Can I buy you a pizza and we’ll call it even? No strings, no expectations. Just two co-workers going to dinner.”

  “Co-workers?” She looks at the couch. “You had your hands on my boobs, Crew. I think we’ve moved past co-workers.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I think we moved past that a long time ago.”

  She palms her keys. “Let’s get that pizza and let this sink in for a while. We’ll concentrate on the music. Get the last few songs written. The rest—whatever it is—can wait.”

  Hearing that, it’s like a weight has been lifted. I grin when she picks up her notebook on the way out. We’re a lot alike. I think about someone else who was a lot like me. But before guilt consumes me, I recall what Mom said. Abby would want me to be happy. I know she would.

  I wonder what Bria would think of some of my earlier music. The songs I sang when I was in Naked Whale. Would I be betraying Abby if I showed some of the stuff to Bria?

  I’m not sure I could do it. It’s too private. We’re nowhere near there yet.

  “There’s a great place down the block,” Bria says. “Their pizza is to die for. Garlic crust, loaded with veggies. Sooooo good.”

  I look up and down the dilapidated street. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?”

  She gives me a biting glance. “You mean someplace nicer.”

  “I was thinking someplace safer.”

  “You think stores don’t get robbed on the Upper West Side?”

  “I’m sure they do, but not when I’m walking by them.”

  “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

  “I get out,” I say defensively.

  “Crew, this is my neighborhood. That’s not changing anytime soon unless I win the lottery or RA hits the top of the charts.”

  I let out a big sigh as we pass a few thug teens on the street, looking at Bria like she’s a piece of filet mignon. “I don’t have to like it.”

  “You don’t, but I do, and that’s enough.”

  We reach the establishment, which is not as bad as I imagined. I hold the door open for her. The proprietor greets her like they’re old friends.

  “Hey, Tony,” she says. “I’ll have the usual.�
� She turns to me. “It’s fully loaded, you okay with that?”

  “Sure, and a Budweiser.”

  “Bud Light for me, please.”

  “You kids take a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

  Bria leads us to a table in back. “I wrote a song about my brother.”

  “I think they call that incest,” I joke.

  She play-hits me on the arm. “Shut up. Do you want to see it? I’ve never sung it in public.”

  “Definitely. I’d love to see anything you’ve written.”

  She smiles. “Yeah—same.” She opens her notebook and leafs through the pages. It’s an early one. The title of it is ‘Big Blue Door.’ “I wrote this when I was fifteen, so don’t be too critical. It’s got a pop/country beat.” She hums the tune to put it in my head.

  I read the lyrics.

  If you run in will you come out

  It’s the thought I think about

  Every time you walk out that big blue door

  That big blue door

  (chorus)

  That big blue door is where we live

  Where we fight, where we forgive

  That big blue door is where I go, the only place that I call home

  Will you come through I wonder each day, or like her will you go away

  I read the rest of it, captivated by her words. “Wow, that’s powerful. Has he seen it?”

  “He’s the only one who has until now.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “Seriously?”

  She crosses her chest. “True.”

  “I’m honored.”

  Tony comes over with our beers and a basket of bread. “Writing songs again, eh? I can’t wait to tell everyone I served you pizza when you become famous. Hey, maybe you could give me a shout-out to drum up business.”

  “Sure,” Bria says.

  He saunters away, whistling.

  Bria takes a drink. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

  I mentally go through a dozen songs in my head, not coming up with a single one I want her to see. I pull my notebook protectively into my lap. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight.”

  Her face falls. “Okay, but I’m not sure we’ve ever talked about anything else. How about you tell me about high school? Everyone has good stories about that time in their life.”

  Shit, that topic’s not any better.

  “No?” she says at my hesitation. “All right, I’ll go. But one of these days you’ll open up to me, Christopher Rewey.”

  My heart stops beating, and I’m sure my face goes ashen. She called me Christopher.

  “What is it?” she asks. “Your beer not sitting well?”

  I take a few long swallows. “It’s fine. Tell me some stories.”

  She talks about her best friend, Hannah, who moved away senior year, leaving her high and dry. About singing in the choir. About the awkward way she lost her virginity. About letting go of the disdain she had for her father.

  Letting go.

  As she tells me more about her dad, I hear lyrics in my head.

  ’Cause letting go is a fatal blow

  I pull out my notebook. “I have to jot something down. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It drives my friends crazy when I do that, but I totally get it. She scoots closer. “Can I see?”

  I close the book. “It’s not our stuff, it’s…” I have no idea how to explain it without giving it away.

  Her lips form a thin line and then she sighs. “A fucked-up mess?”

  I nod as our pizza is put on the table.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bria

  It seems strange to leave the city with Crew after being banished to my apartment for a week to finish our songwriting. We did, though. We finished everything, and now we have thirteen songs for the new album. The guys should be happy, and we can get back to rehearsing again. Right after we meet our new IRL rep, Veronica Collins.

  “You ready for this?” Crew asks.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I’ve heard record label reps can be intimidating.”

  “More intimidating than Jeremy? I doubt it. Plus, with a name like Veronica, she’s probably old. Who names their kid Veronica?” I pull up to the barn near a sleek red Porsche parked next to Jeremy’s SUV.

  Crew turns to me. “Old, huh?” He opens the door for me.

  He’s been very nice to me this past week. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, paying for meals. But one thing he hasn’t done is kiss me again. It’s my own fault for telling him we should concentrate on the album and let everything else wait.

  “Welcome!” someone chirps in a high-pitched and somehow totally condescending voice.

  The voice belongs to a woman with stick-straight black hair that falls to the middle of her back. Her designer blouse reveals a hint of cleavage, her tight pencil skirt matches the color of her hair, and she’s got legs up to there.

  Crew and I share a look. Definitely not old. I’d be surprised if she was thirty.

  “You must be Brianna,” she says, quickly giving me the once-over. “And you” —she eyes Crew up and down— “your pictures don’t do you justice.” She picks up his hands, holds out his arms, and shamelessly ogles his body. “This I can work with.”

  “Please call me Bria. It’s nice to meet you, Veronica.”

  “Ronni,” she says to me before her eyes go back to devouring Crew. “Jeremy has told me all about you. I’m eager to get started. Come.”

  She leads us over to the common seating area and pulls Crew down on the couch next to her, forcing the rest of us to take the chairs. I don’t miss Liam’s eyes on me. Apparently, I’m not the only one weirded out by Little Miss Red-Porsche’s behavior.

  Jeremy is perched on a barstool. He nods hello and gives Ronni the floor.

  “A few things,” she says. “First we’re going to need one more song for the album.”

  “We have thirteen,” Garrett says.

  “Uh, ahyaaaah,” she says melodramatically. “Why do you think we need one more? It’s bad luck to put thirteen songs on an album.”

  “Bad luck?” I say incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes, Brianna. Bad luck.”

  “It’s Bria.”

  “What’s that?” she asks, seemingly uninterested in anything but Crew’s bulging arms.

  “Everyone calls me Bria.”

  She sniffs in disapproval. “Not anymore. Bria is too cutesy. From now on you’ll be Brianna Cash. It’s a strong name. A recognizable one.”

  I point at Crew. “What about him? He’s got a nickname.”

  “Crew,” she says, musing aloud. “Also strong and recognizable. It’s fine.”

  I snort. “Of course it is.”

  “He’ll be billed as Chris Rewey on the album,” she says. “But he’ll be referred to as Crew for all other intents and purposes.” Her sculpted lips curl into a cruel smile. “How long will it take you to write another song, Brianna?”

  “I don’t know, Veronica. A day? A week? It’s not like we can just pull one out of a hat.”

  “It’s Ronni,” she says, in that whiny irritating voice of hers.

  I give her a hard stare. “It’s Bria.”

  Jeremy joins us from the bar. “More songs mean more money, guys.”

  Ronni finally stops giving me the look of death and addresses all of us. “Remember, I call the shots, or did you forget what you signed? Listen, boys …” She glances at me in disgust. “Listen, people, I’m going to get you on the radio. I’m talking serious airtime, not just the three AM lonely-hearts hour. IRL may be a small indie label, but this isn’t our first rodeo. You saw my car, right? You have to trust that I know what’s best for you. You do that, and one day you could all be driving cars like that.”

  Three years. We have to put up with this self-righteous bitch for three years?

  “First things first,” she says. “We need to upgrade your rehearsal space. This place is unacceptable.
And it smells.”

  “What? No.” Crew stands and moves around behind our chairs in a show of solidarity. “That will cost money. Money we don’t have yet. This place is free and available to us twenty-four-seven. And believe it or not, the acoustics are great.”

  She pats the seat next to her, as if calling her dog. Crew glances at me and then sits back down.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But I’ll expect you to remember how accommodating I’ve been.”

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  It seems to pain her to look away from Crew and at me. “Of course that’s not all. Do you think I’d drive all the way out here for a five-minute conversation?” She narrows her eyes. “You’ll have to cut your hair. It’s too long.”

  I touch it protectively. “I’m not cutting my hair. There was nothing about that in the contract.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she says. “You should also get some highlights.” She touches Crew’s jaw. “This I like. The five-o’clock stubble is sexy. Keep it.”

  She goes through the rest of her demands, which are more along the lines of what I expected. An hour later, she shakes hands with all the men, her highly-manicured paws lingering on Crew longer than they should for a friendly handshake.

  I put my hand out. She shakes it as if I have cooties.

  “We have a lot of work to do, boys … I mean, people. We’ll meet again at the studio. If you need anything, call.” She hands her business card directly to Crew. “I mean it. Anything.”

  “Bye, boys,” she says on her way to the door. With her back turned, she raises a dismissive hand. “Bye, Brianna.”

  “Veronica,” I say dryly.

  She pauses but doesn’t turn around. I get the idea this is going to be how it is with us.

  Liam closes the barn door behind her. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “She can be a lot to take,” Jeremy says. “But IRL is our best shot right now.” He tucks her notes into his binder. “I’ll see you Friday night. Oh, and I hired someone to set up for you. Beginning next month you’ll no longer be hauling your own equipment from the van. He’ll also be your driver.”

  “How much is that going to cost us?” Crew says. He glances at me like he’s thinking how hiring extra labor means more out of my pocket that’s already empty.