by Aly Stiles
“Yeah, that’s basically what it boils down to. They stole Mason’s songs, passed them off as their own for years, and once he had the contacts and resources to go after us, our label settled with him, then sued us for the damages. So yeah, two years ago we were playing arenas. Now we’re nothing. Worse than nothing, really. Nothing would be an improvement,” I mutter.
“So you’re criminals because you stole Mason’s songs, and rapists because…” Naomi lifts a brow, waiting for my response. Dang, this girl shows no mercy.
I swallow hard, my mood darkening. Criminal, I will own. I may not have been part of the group that abandoned Mason and stole his songs, but I profited from the betrayal and never asked the questions I should have until it was too late. Rapist, however, is just a low blow by her father.
“I swear to you, Naomi, that part had nothing to do with me or anyone in the band except Rob Patrick. He assaulted a girl at his condo and is now in prison. To be honest, I didn’t even like the guy. He was a dick and treated everyone like garbage. As soon as I found out what they really did to Mason, I sided with Mason and his legal team to get them whatever information they needed. Max and I both testified on his behalf and were huge factors in helping him win his case.”
“Which is why he’s helping you now?” Hadley asks.
“Maybe. Also, he’s just a great guy. I mean, come on. Rob Patrick is probably the only person on this planet who doesn’t like Mason West.”
“It doesn’t hurt that he’s ridiculously hot and talented,” Hadley adds. She grins and shrugs when I roll my eyes. “You know he’s the one singing with Viv on ‘The Girl in the Mirror,’ right?”
I did know that. It’s how Viv got on our radar in the first place. I also hear the reverence in Hadley’s voice, and swallow an unexpected twinge. Weird.
Wait, am I jealous?
Hadley’s blue eyes flash back at me, suddenly full of everything that happened last night. Her natural pink lips curve in a smile, full and soft. Her blond waves are pulled back in a simple ponytail, as usual, but a few silky strands have escaped and frame her face in loose curls. The sweats she’s wearing do everything they can to hide her stunning figure. And yet… I swallow hard and look away.
“Anyway,” I say, dragging my attention from Hadley and centering it back on my niece. “My point is, Rob Patrick is a piece of slime who’s now in prison for his crimes. That’s what your dad was referring to. As for the rest, I paid for my sins—literally—which is why I ended up broke, unemployed, and trying desperately to start over. A few months ago, I ran into Mason at a small event, and being the prince that he is, he begged his agency to take us on after hearing my sob-story. Samantha Turner wouldn’t agree to full representation, but said she’d at least help us get off the ground as a favor to Mason.”
“Until I came along to ruin everything,” Naomi says.
I snap my gaze to her, trying to read her face. But her stoic expression gives nothing away. No, she’s still in audience-mode, watching me with the same careful interest she displayed throughout the rest of the story. I sense this is a test and she’ll give me nothing until I pass or fail.
“Naomi, you just heard where I was at. You couldn’t have ruined everything even if you’d tried—and I know you did,” I add with a smile. She gives me a sardonic look, but I see the hint of a smile peeking out on her lips as well. “There was nothing left to ruin. I didn’t want your dad to leave you here because you deserve better than this. Better than me.”
Silence spreads over us, my blurted confession hanging in the air like a sour smell. Naomi breathes it in, the scent too strong to take back now.
“Well, he left me here, didn’t he,” she quips, pushing up from the couch. I can’t even tell if she’s hurt, angry, or happy as she storms away. Okay, probably not happy.
“Naomi…” I say, rising as well. I cross to follow her, but Hadley grabs my arm as I pass.
“You should let that one go,” she says softly. I gaze down at her, hoarding a breath in my lungs to sustain another glance down the hall at my niece disappearing into her room with her guitar. My arm jerks from a tug, and Hadley swings it toward the couch where she’s seated. I finally release the breath as I drop beside her, burying my head in my hands.
“I can’t say anything right with her,” I mutter. “It’s always two steps forward and one giant crash into some invisible wall I never see coming. What did I do wrong this time?”
Hadley’s arm wraps around mine, and I stiffen, surprised by her action. Her eyes narrow in warning when the slightest smile ticks up the corner of my mouth.
“What can I say, you trigger the fixer in me,” she says sternly, but she doesn’t let go. If anything, her fingers sink further into my bicep. She likes touching me. Worse, I like her touching me too.
I can’t help but laugh at it all. “I’m that fucked up, huh?”
Her eyes narrow further. “Apparently. And I’d prefer you not use that kind of language around me.”
I lean back to study her, amused and dangerously intrigued. “Fine. But I have to warn you, Hadley Crawford, if you’re attracted to messes, I’m not the only one who’s fucked here.”
Her eyes widen as she pulls away and shoves my shoulder. But is that a smile? Shit. It is. My blood fires hot as she clears her throat and repositions herself board-straight beside me. Her hands are now clasped safely between her knees, like she’s scared they’ll betray her again with another heated touch. I watch her fingers clench tightly around each other, still feeling their sparks on my skin.
Yeah, pretty sure we’re both officially fu… screwed.
CHAPTER 8
HADLEY
He felt good. So good, that I wanted to feel him again. So good that my brain stopped working and my lips started suggesting idiotic things about checking his injuries and re-dressing the wounds. And holy crap, here we are in his room again, flirting with sensations we should not be feeling and temptations we definitely shouldn’t be indulging.
And yet…
He pulls off his shirt, while I pretend to focus on the first aid supplies. I do a good job, I think, barely reacting to the waft of cologne or whatever that visceral fragrance is that saturates the air with his abrupt movement. I refuse to glance at his bare chest when he lowers himself beside me on the bed, careful to remain stoic through the rapid increase of my pulse when his thigh lands against mine. Heat spreads from his jeans through my sweatpants, seeping into my skin and corrupting my racing bloodstream. I clear my throat as if that will somehow purge his overwhelming presence from my awareness.
But it doesn’t.
No, there’s nothing in my universe right now except Julian Campbell. Exasperating, confusing, irresistible Julian Campbell.
I stare at the bandage in my hands, not sure what to do next.
“Typically the gauze works better when it’s on the abrasion,” he says.
I manage a decent eye-roll, trying to ignore the effect of the wicked smirk on his perfect face. Gah! Why does he have to be so good-looking on top of everything else? Maybe I’m actually mad at him for that. “Funny. Typically, I don’t have to administer daily first aid in my line of work.”
His smile grows, and I miss the days when I wanted to smack his gorgeous grin—not taste it. Touch it. Inhale it. I suck in a breath and rip the tape from a cut on his chest.
“Ouch!” he winces out through a laugh.
“Don’t be a baby.”
His eyes fill with amusement as he shakes his head, but my own levity fades when I see the full extent of the damage in the sunlight for the first time. How is he even functioning, let alone taking his niece out on the town to buy guitars?
“You really should be resting today,” I chide.
“A little late for that.”
“You also should have gone to the emergency room. What if you have broken ribs or internal bleeding or—”
He grips my wrists and tugs gently. “Are you here to help me or lecture me?”
&
nbsp; I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re being irresponsible, that’s all.”
He smirks and releases me. “Me? Well there’s something I’ve never been accused of before,” he says dryly.
“Whatever. Just…” I look away, not sure how I planned to finish that sentence. Maybe we shouldn’t talk. Strange things come out of my mouth in his presence. I’ll just follow through on this mistake I already committed to, go back down to my apartment, and—
“What about you, Hadley Crawford?”
I glance up, those brown eyes sucking me in with a deadly mixture of amusement, curiosity, and something else. It’s the something else that has my heart beating faster, my fingers instinctively tingling to explore more of him.
“What about me?”
I press the clean gauze to the wound, giving my fingers something constructive to do so they don’t try something stupid.
“Let’s see. Hadley the Fixer. Hadley the Rule-Follower. Hadley the prim and proper Queen of Responsibility.” He stops, the wry humor in his voice grating on me now.
“Is that a question?” I glare at him as I tear off a piece of tape and slap it on his skin.
“Ouch,” he laughs out again.
“If you’re going to be such a baby about this, maybe don’t pick fights you can’t win?” I snap.
He lifts a brow, clearly enjoying my misery. I bristle even more at that. “Really? So you don’t think I should have confronted Danny P?”
“Of course I do. Just…” I shake my head and focus back on the tape.
“You end a lot of sentences with ‘just.’ You know that?”
I lift my gaze to his, expecting more taunting, but instead I’m met with curiosity. Julian, curious. That’s a new one.
He leans back, bracing his hands behind him as he studies me, and I do everything I can not to study him back. Definitely not the way that position suddenly casts his body in high definition, every muscle on display, taunting me. And the smell. What is that cologne? It should be banned. I blink through a rush of heat and reach for a tube of antibiotic ointment to distract myself.
“You’re very sure about your opinions as they relate to others,” he continues. “Fearless to defend those you love. But yourself…” He shrugs. “You can’t even finish a thought when it’s about yourself, can you? It’s always ‘just.’ You force the other person to fill in the blanks. What is it you want me to fill in? What comes after the ‘just?’”
I feel the resentment spread into my eyes, the ire spike through me at his intrusive observation. No one asked his opinion. That’s the problem with him. He’s so freaking sure of himself that he thinks he has the right to point out every blemish and flaw in those around him. Just because he—
“You don’t like me because I see you,” he says matter-of-factly. His right eye squints in thought as he evaluates me, almost matching his left that’s been swollen into the same perpetual assessment. It’s worse that he’s not teasing me. Not criticizing me. Not doing anything but…
Seeing me.
Fine. Yes. I don’t like it.
I shake my head, a deep chill running down my spine. “I don’t like you because you’re an arrogant, self-centered egotist,” I snap back, but his lips only curve into a grin.
“Ah, right. Because I have every reason to be arrogant. What, with my vast wealth and pristine pedigree.” He spreads his hand around his small bedroom before leaning forward again. “Did it ever occur to you that I know everyone judges me no matter what I do, so maybe I’ve stopped caring what they think?”
“You care.”
“No. I really don’t. You care. Too much and about the wrong things.”
“That’s not true!”
“No? You’re beautiful, Hadley Crawford.”
I flinch and straighten. “What? I—” Flustered, I shake my head and search for something else to do. Anything. Where’s the box of bandages again? But my hand never gets there. He grabs it and holds on until I face him again.
“See? You’re reacting like I insulted you. Why can’t I think you’re beautiful?” he asks softly, that curious look back on his face. Sparks snap between our palms. He entwines our fingers, making me think he feels it too.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe.
“It’s not that. I just…” Crap. Just. There it is again. I kick myself when his lips flicker up in a satisfied smile as he lets me go and resumes that horrible, distracting position.
This time I can’t stop my gaze from taking him in. All of him. From his short messy hair, down to his expressive eyes, to the recent bruises that somehow enhance his striking appearance instead of diminish it. Imperfections that represent his love in an ugly, primal way—a side of him I don’t understand but clearly want to explore on an intimate level. The heat swells inside me again, so different than the anger I felt a moment ago.
Why does he have to be so infuriatingly complex?
“It’s not relevant, that’s why,” I finish in an abrupt tone.
He stills, a muscle moving in his jaw as a shadow spreads over his face. I don’t know what it means, but it’s probably safer for both of us than the open intrigue we exchanged a moment ago. We’re a dangerous combination, rule-follower and breaker… fixer and mess. Polarized in a risky attraction that’s getting harder and harder to resist.
After a moment, he pushes himself into an upright position and turns to sit parallel to me. By the hard set of his features and tension in his body, he’s either winning the fight against his own lust right now—or losing. I hate that I don’t know which I want.
“Okay, well, you let me know when it’s relevant,” he says in a cool, civil tone. Grabbing his shirt, he pulls it over his head, wincing while he adjusts it around his body. “I can probably do the rest myself. Thanks for your help.”
I nod and force a smile as I push myself up and move toward the door.
“Take care of yourself, Julian. See you at rehearsal tomorrow.”
His tight smile stings now that it’s missing the corresponding light in his eyes. It’s for the best. And that’s what I am, right? The best at doing what’s best. The Queen of Responsibility.
With enough effort, I should be able to convince myself the queasy feeling in my stomach is relief, not regret.
“Oh my gosh! There he is!”
Viv squeals when Oliver shuffles down the corridor in full goalie gear toward the rink. She jumps to her feet at our seats in the stands, bouncing on her toes as her boyfriend approaches the ice for the first time in months.
The rest of the team milling around center ice comes to attention, and Oliver pauses for a second before lifting his skate and placing it on the ice. The other players erupt in whistles and bang their sticks on the arena floor as he takes a full step into the rink and begins a slow glide toward the net.
Viv claps and jumps, and I can’t help but smile when Oliver glances up into the stands to find her. Tears flood her eyes as she waves and blows a kiss to him. His grin widens, and I swallow a surge of emotion that doesn’t even belong to me. This is their moment, a hard-fought battle that’s been months in the making. I couldn’t be happier for them, and yet…
“You let me know when it’s relevant.”
Julian isn’t even here and he’s ruining this incredible scene. This is about Viv and Oliver. Why would I even think about Julian right now?
“He looks so good. Look at him, Had!” Viv cries, grabbing my arm. “He’s so happy, oh my gosh.” She swipes at her eyes, and I feel the rare burn of tears in my own. Oliver is an amazing man, her match in every way. She deserves this moment after the struggle they’ve both endured to get here, and I force a smile to make sure she gets to hang on to it as long as she can.
“He looks great,” I say, determined not to let Julian ruin this for Viv.
My stomach twists at the thought that I’ll be seeing him again in an hour or so. I hate how he confuses my insides. It’s bad enough I have to endure it when we’re near each other, but now he’s
haunting me after hours as well? We pushed rehearsal later today so Viv could be here for Oliver’s first skate this morning, and I try to settle into the present and enjoy Viv’s excitement.
“He’s worked so hard to get here,” she says, her fingers steepled at her lips as she gazes at Oliver. Gazes, yes. The girl is in love. Deeply, madly in love, and now that weird feeling in my stomach twists with something else. Jealousy, maybe? No. Can’t be. I’ve worked for her for over five years and have never once felt jealous. Her fame, her money, her endless adoration—none of it appealed to me or triggered even an iota of envy.
Not.
Once.
And yet, one dreamy look at the love of her life and… I blame Julian for this too. I have no idea why, but everything is his fault lately. Great, there he is again. Grr.
“You okay?” Viv asks, taking her seat.
“Huh? Yeah, fine, why?” I didn’t intend for my voice to come out like a grunt. She gives me a look that says that’s why.
“Because everyone else in this arena is skipping around on rainbows right now, and you look stabby.”
“Stabby?” I glance down at my hands that have clenched into fists. Yep, pretty stabby-looking. “Sorry. It’s nothing.” I force my fingers unclenched, but they only wrap around my knees instead.
“You having problems with your parents again?” she asks, her eyes softening with concern. Crap, so much for not ruining this moment for her. I force the biggest, brightest smile I can muster.
“No, I’m fine. Seriously! Enjoy watching Ollie. This is huge. Not another glance in my direction.”
She still doesn’t look convinced as she studies me for another second before turning back to the action on the ice. Oliver is skating around the perimeter of the rink with an impressive mix of power and grace. An amateur like me would never guess he’d had his knee shattered five months ago and hasn’t been in skates since.
One look at Viv, and that deep longing plunges into me again. I want to look at someone like she watches him. To have a person melt the way I’ve seen him do in her presence.
