Everything I Want

by MacMillan, Jerica

  Contents

  Shouldn't Want You

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  Book Club

  About Jerica MacMillan

  Other Titles on Amazon

  Bonus Scenes

  Everything I Want

  Cataclysm Book 3

  Jerica MacMillan

  Copyright © 2019 by Jerica MacMillan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Aaron

  Holy shit. It’s Sam.

  When they brought the girl up on stage for Marcus to serenade, I thought she looked familiar. The way the light caught on the blonde highlights in her hair. The way she moved. Now that I get a closer look, it’s definitely her.

  Samantha Barnes.

  My high school sweetheart.

  The one who got away.

  I know, I know. No one meets the love of their life as a teenager, right? I mean, right?

  And yet, she’s the one I compare all other women to. Have ever since we parted ways the summer after high school.

  I was headed to New York City to go to Juilliard. And she was going to the University of Virginia. She raved about their creative writing program. She couldn’t decide between fiction and poetry, but she planned on journalism to pay the bills. Ever the practical one. We decided we didn’t want to try a long-distance relationship. Not when we were both going off on new and separate adventures. It seemed stupid. Unnecessarily restrictive.

  But we kept in touch. At least at first. Over the course of the first semester, our texting turned into occasional emails which turned into me calling her that Christmas break and her telling me her new boyfriend was jealous of the fact that she still talked to her old boyfriend, and no we couldn’t get together and catch up, not even as friends.

  I’d been hurt, honestly, and more than a little jealous. Because new boyfriend. I hadn’t dated anyone. No time. No interest. I still held out hope that Sam would change her mind and we’d get back together. Clearly that wasn’t happening, and I had no claim on her. Not anymore. I was equally responsible for that decision, no matter how much I’d come to regret it.

  As Marcus serenades my ex-girlfriend on stage in Philadelphia, I’m grateful that we’ve played this song countless times. I can’t tear my eyes away, and muscle memory is the only thing carrying me through. A flood of sensations fills my chest—shock, a dull ache, nostalgia as memories rush through my mind. Overlying it all is determination.

  No matter what she’s been up to or who she’s dating—or, fuck me sideways, if she’s married—I’m going to talk to her at the very least. See what she’s doing now. How college went. If she’s happy.

  If she’s single.

  Dear Jesus, please let her be single.

  Because those wide green eyes, filled with surprise when they locked on mine as she climbed onto her stool, encompass infinity, and I’d love it if I could lose myself in them again. And I’m not even going to get started on how luscious her curves have become. Mostly because I don’t need to pop a boner on stage. Let’s just say the last few years have been kind to her.

  Marcus finishes the song, down on one knee, holding her hand and singing soulfully about undying love. I hit the final chords, all of us holding position as they fade, an eerie silence settling over the crowd for half a breath before they erupt into cheers.

  Standing, Marcus pulls Samantha off her stool to take a bow with him, and I’m already in motion. We have an intermission right now, and I’m going to usher her off stage and into the greenroom. Hell, if she’ll agree to come to my dressing room, that’d be even better.

  Visions flicker behind my eyes—kissing her again, feeling her skin, tasting her. I hover behind them, waiting for Marcus to finish whatever he’s saying to the crowd about taking a break to piss or some shit. As soon as he’s done, I butt in, inserting myself between them before Marcus can say anything else to Sam.

  “Sam. It’s good to see you. Let me get you a snack in the greenroom before security takes you back to your seat.”

  Marcus is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. I get it. I never talk to the random chicks he pulls on stage. But this isn’t some random chick. This is Sam. I ignore him, keeping all my attention on Samantha’s eyes, once again wide with surprise and looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. She glances down at where my hand cups her elbow, then back up to my face. Her throat works visibly as she swallows, but then she gives a jerky nod and lets me steer her around the guitar and mic stands and back to the wings.

  She doesn’t say anything as I lead her to the greenroom, and when we get there she just stares at me, her lips parted like she wants to say something but can’t quite come up with what it should be. I want to lean in and kiss her. That look on her face transporting me back to when we were together. But I fight back the urge, reminding myself of all the time that separates us.

  I might think of her as the one that got away, but there’s no guarantee she sees me the same way. Hell, she might even be here with a boyfriend or—dammit—a husband. People our age get married all the fucking time.

  Peeling my fingers off her arm, I busy myself with getting her a bottle of water from the bucket of ice on one of the tables before grabbing one for myself. “Wanna sit?” I tilt my head at a couch. “Or we could go to my dressing room if you don’t want to talk in front of god and everyone.”

  She blinks a couple more times, that stunned expression on her face making me want to pull her close, then looks around the room, seeming to take it in for the first time. “No. Uh, no. This is fine. Yes. Let’s sit.”

  I’m not sure why she’s so flustered to be here with me, but it makes me smile. Is she awestruck by my fame, such as it is? I mean, surely she should know that I’m part of Cataclysm, right? I didn’t start out with them originally, but I’ve been part of the band since we recorded our first album. I wasn’t on the demo.
They brought me on when their original keyboard player didn’t want to drop out of school to sign with a label and go on the road. Bet he’s regretting that decision now.

  We claim one of the couches. She sits almost stiffly, perched on the edge of the cushion. I leave space between us—no need to crowd her since she’s obviously nervous for whatever reason—draping my arm over the back of the couch and turning sideways with my leg propped up next to me so I can face her. I crack open my water bottle and gulp down half of it, swiping my forearm across my forehead to deal with the sweat beading there, trying to catch a quick whiff of my pits while I’m at it. Because do I stink? Is that why she’s acting like this?

  I get sweaty during shows—the stage lights are blazing, and this many bodies packed into a space gets warm—but I put on deodorant beforehand. It still seems to be doing its job. I mean, I’m no spring daisy, but I don’t think I’m surrounded by a cloud of green fog either.

  She looks all around the room, only darting glances at me, chewing on her kissable lower lip and running her finger over the water bottle’s label. I take advantage of the opportunity to get a good look at her up close. Her hair’s a little darker than I remember, not quite as blonde as it used to be. She has part of it pulled back, same as she always used to wear. Her clothes are different, though. Instead of the more relaxed and serviceable T-shirts and not-too-tight pants, she wears painted on jeans and a clingy top that makes it hard not to stare at her tits. I don’t know if they’re actually bigger, or if my memory’s faulty, but I try to be inconspicuous as I adjust my seat and tear my eyes away.

  After taking my time comparing the woman in front of me with the girl I used to know, it’s painfully clear that any conversation is up to me. “Samantha Barnes. I haven’t seen you in ages. How’ve you been?”

  Her eyes meet mine for a second before breaking away. “Good. Busy … but good.”

  I chuckle. “That doesn’t tell me anything. Busy doing what? Are you still writing? How was college? Are you married now? Dating? Fill me in.” I hold my breath, waiting for the answers to my last two questions, hoping that including them with the others doesn’t reveal my desperation.

  With a roll of her eyes and a huff of breath, she finally morphs into the girl I used to know, relaxing into the couch, a smile pulling at her lips at my barrage of questions. “I’m not married. Or dating. I don’t … I just don’t really have time for that right now.”

  I quirk an eyebrow, inviting an explanation as I take another swig of water, but she doesn’t fill in the blanks.

  Instead she looks me over, unashamedly checking me out. “You’ve been busy too, obviously.” Her smile grows. “Your high school piano teacher would be mortified to see what you’ve become.”

  I throw back my head and laugh. “It pays the bills, though. Better than teaching piano lessons to a bunch of snot-nosed kids, anyway.”

  Her smile dims at my comment, and she looks down at the ground. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah, I bet it does.”

  Chapter Two

  Samantha

  Aaron’s comment about snot-nosed kids echoes in my brain. Because let’s be honest, kids taking piano lessons are old enough to wipe their own snot, for the most part. Not like four-year-olds …

  I mean, Maddie tries. She’s got a fierce independent streak when she wants to, though she’s a mama’s girl at heart.

  But if Aaron’s annoyed by just the thought of having to deal with kids ranging in age from five to eighteen or so, then I can’t help but think I made the right choice about keeping Maddie from him all those years ago. Despite everyone pressuring me to tell him I changed my mind about keeping her.

  I couldn’t.

  We’d talked about it. I’d freaked out and said I wanted an abortion.

  And then …

  And then I couldn’t go through with it. I was still freaked out about telling my parents. About what it would mean for me. My future.

  I had no idea. No. Idea.

  But I wouldn’t trade her for the world, even though my life is nothing like what I expected before I accidentally got pregnant.

  Swallowing, I look down at the water bottle in my hands, crack it open and take a drink. With a forced smile, I glance at Aaron, once again marveling at how much he’s changed. He’s filled out, only his eyes and that smile hinting at the boy I used to know. He’s broader, the angles of his face more defined, the last vestiges of the softness of childhood stripped away, replaced by muscle and bone and sinew. Stubble darkens his jaw, and the dark hair he used to wear in a conservative cut is now longer on top and shaved on the sides, styled back with some kind of hair product, a few strands falling out of place from the way he runs his hands through it. “Well, it was great seeing you again. Congratulations on …” I stand and wave a hand around in a lame gesture. “… everything.”

  “Hey.” He climbs to his feet, his hand going to my arm again, sliding from my elbow to my wrist. Veins pop out on his forearms as his fingers give a light squeeze. “The intermission lasts another ten minutes or so. You don’t have to scamper back to your seat that fast.” His gaze darkens, and his voice deepens. “You could stay backstage for the rest of the show if you want. Wait here. We could hang out after.”

  Heart in my throat and racing, I take a half step back. I remember that voice. And it still works its magic on me. But I can’t take him up on his offer. “Oh, uh, well. I have friends waiting for me.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder, breaking contact with him. Because him touching me short-circuits my brain. I pushed him away years ago. Not because I wanted to. But because it was best for him.

  It was one thing for me to choose to alter the entire course of my life. I didn’t have the right to do that to him. He was going places. And look—now he’s here, the keyboard player for a superhot band. He might not be the face, but he’s famous. Probably rich. He can have any girl he likes. And even though I’ve tried to avoid reading anything about his dating life, he appears with a revolving series of actresses and models on his arm. That’s not even getting into whatever kinky arrangement he’s rumored to have with one of his bandmates and the band’s assistant.

  Shaking my head, I take another step back. “I should um—I should just get back to my seat.”

  His brow wrinkles in confusion and concern, and he drops his hand to his side. “Alright. If you insist, I can have security take you back to your seat. But I’d really like to see you again. I’ll get you and your friends passes so you can come backstage after the concert.” The confusion melts from his face, and he gives me a winning smile and a nod like he’s just solved everything, transforming him into the boy I remember. “The show is more fun to watch from the audience than the wings. But then you can still come backstage after and we can hang out. Hang on one sec.” He reaches out and squeezes my arm before pivoting and leaving me standing with my mouth hanging open.

  I snap it shut. He’s not here to hear my objection. Looking around, I catch curious glances from people dressed in black. Two other women walk in, a stunning blonde and a pregnant brunette. They stop in the doorway, their conversation paused once they catch sight of me.

  Awkwardly I raise a hand and give a wave.

  The blonde looks me over from head to toe, taking another step in the room. “You were the girl Marcus serenaded, right?”

  I nod, swallowing against the sudden dryness choking my throat, feeling awkward and out of place. Who are these women? They don’t look how I’d picture groupies. Especially not with one of them pregnant. I offer her a closed-mouth smile.

  One hand on her belly, she smiles back, though hers looks more genuine than I’m sure mine does. “Were the stage lights bothering you?”

  “Uh … no? I mean, they were a little blinding, but I assume that’s normal.”

  The brunette’s brows wrinkle together, and her big doe eyes drop to the water bottle in my hand. “Oh. I thought maybe you were overheated or something.”

  “She means it’s unusual for the gu
ys to bring anyone backstage.” The blonde hands the brunette a water bottle, cracking open her own and looking me over again.

  “Oh, well …” How much do I want to share with these women? “Aaron and I have … history.” That should sum it up enough to quash their curiosity.

  But I seem to have misjudged, because interest sparks in both of their eyes, and the blonde gets a small catlike smile on her face. “Reeeally? What kind of history?”

  I’m saved from answering by Aaron returning, holding a handful of plastic badges on black lanyards with Cataclysm emblazoned on them. He stops behind the two women, looking from them to me. “Excuse me, Kendra, Ava. I was just getting Sam and her friends some passes for after the show.”

  Kendra’s expression turns even more calculating as she swings around to look at Aaron. “Passes? How do you know this girl, Aaron? Did you work it out so Marcus would bring her up on stage?”

  He frowns, his head jerking back as he looks at her. “What? No. I didn’t even know she was going to be here. Otherwise I would’ve gotten these to her ahead of time. It was a complete fluke.” He turns to me with a smile. “But I can’t say I’m upset about it. How many friends do you have with you? Are five passes enough? I can have Blaire get a couple more if you need.”

  I drag my eyes away from the women, who are examining us both with frank curiosity. “Um, I have two friends with me. But I don’t think I can come backstage after …”

  “Why not?” Aaron’s forehead is wrinkled again, and he’s giving me that puppy dog look he used to always give me when we were in high school. It always made me melt then, and the glimpse of that sweet boy under this rugged and masculine exterior he exudes now only intensifies the effect.

  Why not indeed? Maddie’s staying the night at my parents’ house. I’d planned on going out for a drink with my friends after the show at least. And they’ll kill me if I come back and tell them we could’ve gone backstage but I said no.