by Jayne Frost
“Easy with that,” she warned. “It may taste like candy but there’s still quite a bit of vodka in there.”
Nodding, I took another small sip and my nerves started to abate.
“All those articles about Miles on the net,” I said, running my finger over the rim of the glass. “None of them mention how badly he was hurt. It’s all just speculation. Why do you think that is?”
Shannon sighed. “Probably because he disappeared after the accident. Tori, the other survivor, she kind of reinvented herself. She’s a band manager now. And she’s dating Logan Cage.”
I stared into the drink, frowning. “I have no idea who that is.”
For the next hour, Shannon ran down the list of notable bands from Austin that were tied to Damaged in some way. Groups that rose to prominence in the wake of the tragedy.
“So Miles doesn’t play anymore?” I asked after Shannon had finished her story.
“Nope.” She dipped a bite of my chicken fried steak into the garlic mashers. “He just kinda faded away after the accident. Until the reunion concert. There were reports he went to rehab a couple of years ago, but it’s all hush-hush.”
I slid the plate in front of her when she reached across for another morsel. “I still don’t know if I can help him. I’m not even sure where to begin since he won’t talk about his injuries.”
“Why don’t you just ask him?” I gave her a you-can’t-be-serious kind of look. “It’s not prying. You need to know what you’re dealing with in order to help him. Jot down some questions, the same kind the therapist asks you when you go in for treatment. Speaking of, how’s your knee?”
I flexed my foot out of habit. No pain. But then, I hadn’t danced since I got my offer from Tatiana. “It’s good. I’ll see how it holds up in rehearsal.”
“Are you going to tell the mad Russian about your new job?”
I snorted. “Do I look crazy to you? Ivan’s been really nice to me lately. The last thing I need is for him to pull his support.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Like that would ever happen. You’re his little star. His dragonmoya.”
“Dorogaya moya,” I said softly.
“Whatever. He adores you.”
Of course, Shannon thought that. And I’d never bothered to correct her. I wouldn’t do it now, either.
A lie by omission.
Shannon had already left the company when my back had flared up the last time. She didn’t know about the four weeks of rehearsal I’d missed. And she wasn’t there when Ivan brought Sydney in to replace me.
I shouldn’t blame him. But I did. Deep inside, in a place that would never see the light, I condemned him for abandoning me. And a pretty pink dressing room wouldn’t change that.
I drained the last of the Cosmo, the trace of liquor strengthening my resolve. “I’m not taking any chances. I’ve got three months to get my ducks in a row. Now help me with these questions for Miles. Because there’s no way I’m going to New York with no money.”
Miles
Sixteen steps down the narrow staircase to the basement and I was there. At the door to my studio.
After the accident, Taryn had converted one of the rooms on the first floor so I wouldn’t have to come down here to make music. She hadn’t asked. When I’d arrived home from the hospital, it was just there. Shiny, clean, and new. A sterile room with white walls and no memories. And no life.
Tori and I had practiced in that space before the reunion show.
She had a studio at her place—more elaborate and three times the size—but it had a ghost of its own.
My little room on the main floor was neutral ground.
Switzerland.
But down here, I could practically hear the wail of Paige’s guitar and the timbre of Rhenn’s silky smooth voice.
Hovering at the threshold, I flipped on the light and looked around. Against the wall sat a couch with an indent that hadn’t been there six years ago. The hollow told the story of the many nights I’d spent here. Always when it rained. Because in this room there were no windows. And no sound. No way to hear the thunder or see the lightning or feel the storm.
But tonight the skies were clear. So there was no reason for me to be here. Except for the pull. I felt it in my chest. A tugging at my heartstrings.
Stepping inside would be a surrender. So I didn’t give in. Not completely. Instead, I eased onto the carpet, resting my back against the doorframe. One foot in this world and one in the past.
And that’s where I stayed until morning light crept down the stairs, and the invisible string unwound.
Gelsey
Shaking out my hands, I made the long trek from the circular driveway to the door of Miles’s three-story Spanish style mansion.
Needing a moment to center myself before ringing the bell, I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward, concentrating on the soft music floating through my earbuds. And I breathed—in for three counts, out for three counts. In for three counts…
“What are you doing?”
Gasping, I jumped back a foot, my hand flying to my chest. “Jesus!”
Miles leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, eyeing me curiously. “Were you like, meditating or something?”
When I gaped at him, he raised a brow like I was the weird one.
“No, I wasn’t meditating!” I wheezed, yanking off my headphones. “How did you know I was out here?”
A smile ticked up one corner of his lips. “You tripped the motion sensors when you stepped onto the porch. There are also at least a dozen cameras in the yard. Wanna tell me why you’ve been pacing around behind the fountain for the last twenty minutes?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the granite sculpture in the center of the driveway. “You have cameras? Out there?”
I shifted my attention back to Miles, who was already heading in the other direction. “Yep. If you’re finished casing the joint, the pool’s in the back.”
Slipping inside, I glanced around as I toed off my ballet flats. The house was enormous. And elegant. With white marble floors and high ceilings. Venturing a little farther, I passed room after room filled with expensive furnishings and exotic knickknacks.
“Miles!” I called and skidded to a stop when I stumbled upon a room that looked different from all the others. Instead of fancy art, the walls were covered with posters. And records inside glass cases. A drum kit sat in the corner, next to a piano and a stand that held three guitars. Wandering in to get a closer look, I paused in front of the first poster.
DAMAGED—SIXTH STREET REVIVAL TOUR 2012
There had to be at least fifty cities in a dozen countries.
“What are you doing?”
I whipped my head to Miles, hovering in the archway. “There you are. This place is huge. I kind of got lost.” I glanced back to the poster. “You really went to all these places?”
At that moment, I realized I’d never seen Miles angry. This was angry. No ranting. Or smart-ass comments. Just deadly calm. And a dark gaze.
“Let’s go,” he roughed out.
“I’m sorry. I got lost, like I said.”
“This way.” I thought he was going to show me to the door. But instead, we ended up in the kitchen.
“Stay here and don’t move,” he ordered before storming out of the room.
Since I couldn’t find the front door without a roadmap, I buttoned my lip and wandered over to the bay window. The entire city was laid out in the distance. Tall buildings painted against a cloudless sky.
My heart sank as I heard feet pounding against the stairs, followed by a door slamming. Because I knew there was no dealing with Miles Cooper. And this would end badly.
Burying my disappointment, I slid a hip onto the barstool and waited.
By the time Miles returned, I had my phone out, the Uber app lighting my screen.
Slamming a paper onto the marble in front of me, he spat, “Sign this. It’s an NDA. In case you get it in your head that you want to
sell a story to the tabloids, this is ironclad. And I will sue your ass if you violate it.”
Tipping my head all the way back, I searched his face for any sign of warmth and, finding none, I eased to my feet. “I don’t think this is going to work out. Can you point me to the door?” Miles narrowed his eyes. “The door?” I repeated, more forcefully this time. “I want to leave now.”
The words finally penetrated his thick skull, and he snorted like he was the aggrieved party. “Yeah. Sure thing.”
He led me back through the house, feet slapping against the marble like he had a vendetta. Against me or the stone, I wasn’t sure.
As soon as I spotted the foyer, I scooted around him. “Thanks. I can take it from here.”
In the time it took me to shove my feet into my shoes, Miles closed the distance between us. “Why won’t you sign it?” he challenged, glaring down at me like he expected me to crack under the weight of his stare.
Arrogant prick.
“Because you didn’t ask,” I hissed, yanking the door open.
The sun warmed my face as I stepped onto the porch. With a shaky hand, I pulled out my phone and summoned the Uber. Eight minutes. Enough time to make it to the end of Miles’s long ass driveway. I’d just pulled my earbuds from my bag when my phone buzzed with a message.
Your payment method has been declined.
Sinking onto the first step, I tried again with the same result. My dad still hadn’t put any money in my account. And since all I had was the cash from the pawn shop, a taxi was my only option. An expensive option, but well worth it to get me out of crazy town.
The door creaked open, and I hopped up like I was on springs, scampering to the bottom of the steps.
“Gelsey.”
Bracing myself, I turned and faced Miles, framed in his massive doorway. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”
I only made it three steps before a bellow sliced through the morning air. “Stop!”
And I did. Not because Miles commanded me to. But because I was pissed.
Spinning around, I parked a hand on my hip. “Is that how you talk to everyone? If it is, it’s no wonder you stay locked up in your house. Because I’m sure you don’t have any friends.”
My smile chased the shock right off his face, and he slowly meandered down the steps. “Is that what you heard? That I don’t have any friends?” He chuckled. And it wasn’t dry and brittle for a change. “What else do you think you know about me?”
As much as I wanted to tell him about the site I’d found that went into great detail describing his assholery, I held my tongue. By all accounts, he was kind to his fans. It was the press he had a problem with.
And me.
“Nothing,” I said truthfully. “I didn’t even know who you were until Shannon told me. I’d never heard your music, and I couldn’t pick you out of a crowd. But just so you know, I’d never sell a story to a tabloid. And I wasn’t snooping. I just got lost.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, contemplative. “If you didn’t know who I was, then why did you agree to help me?”
I thought about all my injuries. My constant struggle to stay fit so I could dance. And the pain etched on Miles’s features the day we met.
“Because you offered me a lot of money.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least you’re honest.”
The genuine smile I’d glimpsed yesterday when we were sparring appeared out of nowhere. Full lips and sexy stubble. Straight white teeth. And a dimple. He looked so different when he smiled. Younger.
“Good luck, Miles,” I said sincerely.
His hand came down on my arm when I turned to leave. The touch was barely there, but I felt it sizzle all the way to my marrow.
“Listen…maybe I overreacted,” he said. “I’m not used to having people in my personal space. But I’m in a shit ton of pain, and I could really use your help.”
His index finger traced a circle over my skin. Once. Twice.
Walk away, Gelsey.
“On one condition.” A little suspicion crept back into his gaze, but he nodded anyway. “You’ve got to trust me. Not with anything personal. But if you question my motives every time I open my mouth, this will never work.”
Miles sucked in a deep breath and looked around. Anywhere but at me. “Yeah. I can do that.”
I had my doubts, but I didn’t voice them, and he took my silence as agreement. Sliding my gym bag off my shoulder and onto his, he placed his free hand on the small of my back, urging me toward the house like I might change my mind.
When we reached the door he looked down at me with a furrowed brow. “You’ve really never heard my music?”
I thought about the playlist of Damaged songs I’d added to my Spotify account after my Google stalking. And I smiled. “Nope.”
Miles
Gelsey stood in front of me, studying my posture while I studied her. She looked so determined. To do what, I wasn’t sure. So far, the only thing she’d done since we got in the pool was adjust my stance.
I twitched when her hand slid over my hip, and she shot me a worried look. “What’s the matter? Are you in pain?”
Since I was on my best behavior, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “No, I’m fine.”
Relief flashed across her features. “Good. Just tell me if I hurt you.” I nodded, like I’d done the past three times she’d reminded me. Another series of minor tweaks and she smiled. “You’re doing great.”
I raised a brow. I couldn’t help it. And then I was smiling too. “Well, we’ve established that I know how to stand. But you can’t take credit for that. I’ve been doing it successfully for twenty-nine years.”
Biting down a grin, she went back to work. “It’s not about standing. It’s about engaging your core.” She laid her palm flat on my six-pack. “You’re not having any difficulty yet because these muscles right here are solid.” Her hand drifted a tad lower, her pinky grazing the waistband of my board shorts. “These muscles though, they need some work.”
I snorted. Couldn’t help that either. Before the accident, full body workouts were my thing. But now, the only muscle groups I worked consistently were my abs and my arms.
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that. My abs are a work of art.”
A dainty snort parted her lips. “I can prove my theory if you’d like.”
“Oh yeah?”
She shrugged, so confident. “Once we get out of the pool, I’ll lay you down and show you how much work you need to do on the lower abs.”
A visual popped into my head sending all the blood racing to my dick. Something in my eyes must’ve given away my dirty thoughts, because Gelsey shook her head, panicked.
“No, no. I didn’t mean…If you were thinking I meant…” Groaning, she hid her face behind her hand. “Of course, you weren’t thinking that.”
I dipped my head to catch her eyes. “And you’re a mind reader now?”
She chuffed out a little breath, then dropped her voice to something that approximated a baritone. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school? You know, high school?” Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have to read your mind since you made yourself clear.”
I thought back to the day at the Y, and the way I’d spoken to her. Dick, my inner voice chided.
“It was a joke.”
Gelsey dismissed the comment with a shrug. “Can you turn around, please?” Peering up at me when I didn’t move, she added, “I need to check your back.”
Welding my teeth together to keep from saying something to make it worse, I did as she asked.
After a moment, she said softly, “My body is pretty typical for a ballet dancer.” Her hands traveled casually up my spine, feeling every vertebra. “Long neck. No boobs. Skinny as a rail. So I can’t blame you for thinking that.”
I twisted to look at her, and she gave an admonishing little glare, which I ignored. “I was just being a dick. I’m good at that. But I didn’t mean it.” It
wasn’t the apology she deserved, but I was out of practice. She offered a shaky nod, and adjusted my shoulders, forcing me to face forward.
“So you’re a ballet dancer?”
“Yes,” she replied, the smile in her tone evident. “I’ve been invited to dance at the New York City Ballet Company. I’m leaving in a couple of months.”
I didn’t know shit about ballet, but that sounded impressive. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I just have to make sure I don’t get injured between now and then.”
A hint of anxiety threaded her tone. Barely there. But I heard it.
“Is that a problem for you? Injuries?”
I felt the warmth against my back when she sighed. “Yes. I have something called a spondylolisthesis. It’s why I have so much experience with water therapy.” Her touch traveled over my shoulders and down my arms. “Good. You can turn around now.”
I faced her, and she crouched to adjust my hips. Lifting her gaze, she smiled. “Eyes forward. You’re slouching.”
My back went board straight, mostly because her hand returned to my stomach. Forcing my thoughts away from what it would feel like if her fingers skimmed lower, I picked a spot in the distance to focus on. “So…this spondylo thing. What is it and how do you treat it?”
“There is no real treatment. I have what’s known as a bilateral pars defect. It’s a stress fracture in my spine that allows the vertebra to slip back and forth.” She popped to standing and stepped beside me. “Arms out in front of you.”
I shifted my attention her way without moving my head. “You can’t have surgery or something?”
Turning my palms upward, she pursed her lips. “No, it’s inoperable. I just have to make the best of it. Unfortunately, dancing makes it worse.”
“Then why would you—?” Our gazes collided, stealing the question from my lips. Dancing wasn’t a choice for Gelsey. I could see it in her eyes. The same glow I used to have when I talked about music. Like it was air. And I’d suffocate without it. “Is it going to get worse over time?”
