by Aly Stiles
A jolt of alarm fires through me at the odd thought. Where is this even coming from? I’m twenty-three years old and have never been dissatisfied with my life. In fact, I’m the one always arguing with my disapproving family that my life is exactly the way I want it. I don’t need more. I don’t want more.
Until this moment.
“Did you hear the new song Julian sent over?”
I flinch at Viv’s abrupt question. Is she reading my mind? “No,” I answer in a garbled tone. I clear my throat. “Is it good?”
She lifts a brow as she glances over. “You sure you’re okay?”
I breathe out through my nose. “Fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night. The song is good?”
“Of course it’s good. All his songs are good. It’s so deliciously heavy and dark like ‘Unforgiven.’ There’s this one line on the bridge I love, but I want to see if he’d be open to tweaking the melody. He goes up, but I like the idea of going down, maybe even into a full run. ‘It’s not your shadow to break. No one asked you to suffer this hell I’ve made.’” She sings the lyrics, emphasizing the downward run on “I’ve made.”
“Or maybe even, ‘I’ve made,’” she sings again with a slightly different riff.
“Yeah, I like that. You should suggest it to him,” I say, careful to keep my voice steady. I do a good job at pretending I’m not picturing Julian shirtless on a bed now, staring at me with a curious expression on his face and lyrics like those streaming through his head. Gosh, that boy has anger issues. Trust issues. So many gosh-darn issues that make incredible music and are absolutely none of my business.
“I saw your sister just got nominated for a Baxter Award,” Viv says, obviously trying to change the subject, which means I’m doing a terrible job at masking my reaction to the topic of Julian Campbell.
I glance over and force yet another smile. Not sure my sister’s inflated accomplishments is any improvement from the Julian subject, however. Can’t Viv just enjoy her boyfriend’s big moment in silence? When did we become the duo that needs to chitchat?
“Yep. We’re celebrating the amazing Jasmine Crawford tonight. Yay,” I mutter, twirling my finger in the air.
Viv smirks. “Celebrating, huh? Private jet trip to Tahiti?”
“Close. Private dinner at April Mist.”
“The brunch spot? Are they open for dinner service? I thought they only did brunch.”
I shrug. “They open for Crawford royalty, apparently. Remington and Pearl are concerned about all of us gathering in a public place, so why not rent an entire restaurant to ensure privacy?”
“All of you? Does that mean Teddy is coming home for this too?”
“Yep. Supposed to be flying in now, actually.”
“Milan could spare him?” Viv asks in a dramatic voice. I can’t help but snort a laugh.
“Apparently. Pretty sure they’re shutting down the city until he returns, so we’ll keep this reunion brief.”
Viv grins, and I so wish she was coming with me tonight. I could use an ally, and my family would love it. She’s everything they wish I was. Beautiful, accomplished, attached to a good-looking professional hockey player who represents the epitome of top-shelf boyfriends.
Plus, it would be a lot harder for them to whine about the fact that I’m single and wasting my life as a personal assistant when my boss is at the table, but there’s zero chance I’ll be pulling Viv and Oliver out tonight. I already sense her counting the seconds until she can get him alone and celebrate this huge milestone in very naked and intimate ways.
“Well, good luck. Just tell them to shove it if they start giving you a hard time,” she says.
“When,” I correct. “When they give me a hard time. Hey, you and Oliver wouldn’t want to come, would you? Or at least let me borrow him as my date?”
She laughs, answering my joke with one look—a heated, covetous blast that tells me they just spent two months with limited contact while she was on tour, and no one is interfering with their makeup time. Pretty sure I’ll have a lot of downtime coming as Viv’s hectic life winds down and she builds a new one with Oliver.
I don’t blame her one bit and fully support their relationship. It’s what helped her blossom into the amazing, fulfilled woman she is now. If anything, part of me worries she won’t need me anymore now that she’s shed the chaos of Genevieve Fox. The tour and transitional issues of Genevieve’s retirement kept me busy over the last few months, but what will happen once we settle into the groove of our new lives?
My stomach sinks with a fresh threat as I glance over at Viv who’s now focused on Oliver again. She leans forward in her seat, her elbows on her knees while her gaze remains fixed on the hockey player crouched between the posts. Oliver looks like he’s home. Viv does too. Where does that leave me?
“Oh my gosh, your face!” Viv gasps when she sees Julian. He glances up from his place behind the mic, his gaze passing over me briefly before landing casually on her.
“Ha yeah. Took a fall the other night.” His eyes dart to me before ducking back to the guitar he’s tuning. I swallow the effect and grip my messenger bag. “You get a chance to listen to the new song?” he asks Viv before she can probe further.
“Oh yes! I love it. I actually had an idea for the bridge…” She and Julian continue with their conference, while I find my usual seat behind them. I pull out my laptop, glancing around for a sign of Naomi. After all the progress we made, he wouldn’t try to hide her away again, would he? My anger mounts until I remember it’s Monday. She’d be in school—a thought that makes me shudder. What would it be like to guide a preteen girl through middle school?
I glance back at Julian who’s listening intently to Viv. His brow furrows in concentration, his eyes focused and engaged as he absorbs whatever she’s saying. Just days ago I questioned his commitment to the band and his niece. Now, I’m starting to think those are the only two things he cares about.
Julian calls the band to attention, and I shove my ear protection in place to block the noise of the rehearsal so I can focus on my work. Well, that was the intention anyway.
But then my eyes notice the jeans Julian is wearing today. How they hang low, and yet somehow hug his butt perfectly. How his shoulders ripple through his white t-shirt with the pressure of his guitar strap. How I kind of want to pull my earplugs out and replace them with IEMs like the band wears so I can hear him—them, I mean.
I shake my head and blink back at my screen. What is wrong with me? Still buzzing from the cross-ice chemistry of Viv and Oliver, I guess. I never should have gone with her today, even though there’s no way in heck I would have missed it. Oliver is my friend too.
Laughter breaks through my barrier, and I glance up to find them all staring at me. Viv winks as Julian shakes his head with what could be considered a shy smile. Julian, shy? Not in my lifetime.
“What?” I snap, ripping an earplug from my ear.
“Nothing. I just solved your problem for you,” Viv calls over.
“My problem?” I ask, my heart pounding as Julian chuckles to himself and shoots his gaze in my direction.
“Later,” he mumbles. “Let’s get started. We’re already running late.”
Viv grins, obviously proud of herself, but now my mind is racing. What problem? And what problem that would involve that strange look on Julian’s face? And why does he keep finding reasons to glance behind him? To his right, sure. Wyatt (or Max as Julian calls him), Travis, Beck, lots of reasons to look to his right. But to his left it’s just me and the wall which means… my heart beats faster.
I’ll have to wait to find out what that weird exchange was about when Julian counts them off for their first song.
At the intro, I’m straining through the earplugs to listen. A few seconds in, I pull them from my ears entirely. Whoa. What’s happening? I’ve heard “Unforgiven” several times now, but not like this.
“Broken hinge of a life worth living
I’m the piece still mis
sing
The path forbidden, driven from heaven’s hand
A forgotten wasteland
Where scarred remains of hidden dreams still scream
These tired souls plead in a lonely prison
Filled with The Unforgiven”
I don’t know much of his past, but the song cuts into me with the little I’ve pieced together over the last few days. Is he talking about the Eastern Crush fiasco or something deeper? Something older that makes what happened with Eastern Crush a symptom of a more deadly disease poisoning his life. I don’t like the latter. It doesn’t fit with my self-centered playboy narrative, makes it too hard to shrug him off and look away when everything in me says I should be running hard in the opposite direction.
But by the chorus, I’m leaning forward like an invested fangirl.
Viv grips her mic, owning the lyrics as if she was the one who found herself stabbed and bleeding in a parking lot two nights ago. This is her story about losing everything over and over again and being left to pick up the pieces alone. She’s a master performer. I believe every word, until my gaze slips to the dark concentration of the guitar player to her left.
I suck in a breath at the transformation. He’s become the music, the story. Viv may own the lyrics, but this is Julian’s song, and there’s no doubt when his voice joins Viv’s on the bridge that it comes from a very real place.
I’m left rigid as he spits his pain into the mic over Viv’s strong, haunting vocal. Hard and beautiful, their contrasting leads trigger a surge of anger and emotion I’ve never experienced. It’s pure art the way they ebb and flow together, fight and retreat with each sung melody followed by a growling echo.
“Hymn of the unforgiven”
“(You think this is what I wanted? You, you think it’s all I am?)”
“So tired of the pleading”
“(I can’t do this anymore. I’ll never be, no, no never be.)”
“You say I’ve stopped believing”
“(Tell me what I’m waiting for. You took it all. Took, took, took it all.)”
“Just want to stop the bleeding”
“(Who will wait for the abandoned, the hymn of the…)”
“Unforgiven.”
Chills rush through me when their vocal volley breaks into an instrumental explosion. Max unleashes on the drums. Julian and Travis wail on their guitars, while Julian continues screaming into the mic.
“Unforgiven! Unforgiven! I’ll be the unforgiven!
Unforgiven! Unforgiven! I’ll never learn my lesson!”
Throughout the final choruses, I can’t keep my eyes off them. I’ve spent my life watching musicians perform, but never have I seen them transform the way this band does by the time the song comes to a dramatic end. No one moves for at least five seconds after the last chord, hovering in the moment, all of us in silent agreement that something incredible just happened.
“That was it,” Julian breathes out finally. The rest of the band releases a collective sigh as smiles light up around the room. “Yeah,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “That was it.” He crosses his gaze to Viv, who grins back.
“We found our sound,” she says with confidence.
He nods once in affirmation. “Now we just need a name.”
CHAPTER 9
JULIAN
What a difference a rehearsal makes. After our first one, I was worried we’d made a huge mistake. After today, pretty sure we have something legit.
Viv and the others are killing it, breathing life into my songs in a way I never considered when I wrote them. That’s a real band. When an idea plus collaboration equals art. It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life.
Even in the prime of Eastern Crush, Rob had been such a control freak that he never let us be creative and make good songs better. There was no collaboration. It was the Rob Patrick show, which turned out to be the Rob Patrick pretending to be Mason West show. Except, the real Mason West would have let us tweak his songs into something phenomenal. Maybe that’s what angered him the most about the whole thing. The fact that we time-stamped his music into something stale.
I climb the stairs of my building, eager to get some writing time in before Hadley’s family thing tonight. I’m kicking myself for agreeing to that now. As fun as it sounded to piss off her celebrity parents by pretending to be her boyfriend, the full inconvenience of the joke is starting to settle in. Do I really want to give up a night of writing for a joke date?
I think about Hadley’s reaction when Viv relayed the plan she’d concocted. Okay yeah, that alone was worth it. She pretty much choked on air, shot a scalding glare at Viv, and then her face got all red and blotchy when her gaze landed on me. That was my favorite part. I have no clue why Hadley finally agreed to it. She must hate her parents more than me. Plus, maybe the thought of playing her boyfriend stirred the tiniest spark in me, even if it isn’t real. This could be pretty freaking enjoyable.
Music pounds down the hall as I push through the fire door onto our floor. Not a good sign. I had cut out of rehearsal as soon as it ended to get home for Naomi. Clearly she beat me here.
Inside the apartment, I find her schoolbag at a strange angle on the floor, some of the contents spilling out in a macabre testament to a bad day. I look around for other clues but don’t see anything obvious. No, my best evidence is the music blaring down the hall.
I drop my cases by the door and let out a long breath on my trudge to her room. Will she even hear my knock over the thrashing? I try anyway.
“Naomi!” I call out.
Nothing.
“I’m home!”
“Hey! You in there?” I pound harder, pressing my other palm against the door frame while I wait. I’m just about to try again when she yanks the door open, her face scrunched in an exaggerated scowl.
“What?” she snaps.
“Nothing. Just saying hi. I’m home.”
“Congratulations.” She goes to close the door, and my instinctive irritation wants to let her. It would be the expected outcome in our pattern over the last month and clearly what she’s going for. She obviously wants nothing to do with me. Then, I remember that brief moment yesterday when she did. The smile that told me there’s another girl trapped in there somewhere.
“You mind turning that off?”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t hear you when it’s on.”
“What do you need to hear?” she says, crossing her arms.
“Your words.”
“I’m not talking.”
“Exactly.” I lean against the open frame, making it clear I’m not leaving. That icy glare remains fixed on her face throughout a ten-second standoff, her exasperated sigh, the march to the phone on the dresser, and the most dramatic pressing of a button I’ve ever seen. My ears ring in the silence as she marches back and resumes the angry arm-cross stare-down.
“Okay. Now, what?” she demands.
“How was school?” I ask in an even tone.
“It was school. How do you think?”
“Super fun and educational?” I say, raising my brows.
Her glare darkens, then eases slightly in confusion.
“Please tell me you had an assembly today. Or at least got to do some mandatory state testing?” I clasp my hands in front of me in anticipation.
The slightest of smiles peeks through before she manages to crush it. “You’re so weird,” she mutters.
“Hey, we’re genetically linked, so careful with the insults.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s that smile again. I move into her room and pick up her guitar on the stand, as if that’s the reason for my intrusion.
“You need help tuning this?” I ask, dropping to the desk chair.
“No, I got it. It’s pretty much the only thing I can do,” she mumbles.
I try to keep my look discreet as I study her to read that response. “Cool.” I start strumming absently, while she continues to stare at me. “So you want to tell me why your bo
okbag is throwing up all over my floor?”
She flinches in surprise before the smile creeps out again. “I dropped it.”
“Dropped it or threw it?”
“Threw it.”
“Must have been one kick-ass assembly.”
Her smile widens as she shakes her head. “There wasn’t an assembly, Uncle J. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“No?” I glance down at the strings, strumming casually to disguise my interest.
The creak of the bedframe tells me she’s dropped to her mattress, and I work hard to maintain my cool state. She’s softening to the conversation, and I don’t want to spook her.
“School was whatever. Some girls were being bitches today, that’s all.”
I look over at her, trying to read the part she’s not saying. “Middle school girls being bitchy? No way.”
Her smile widens a bit before she looks away. “Whatever. I don’t care.”
Except, she does. A lot, and my stomach tightens. “What were they saying?”
“They posted…” Her mouth hangs open but nothing comes out. After a few seconds, her teeth sink into her lip, and it’s then that I notice the hint of a quiver. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quietly, her voice shaking.
Oh hell no. I clench my fist around the neck of the guitar to rein in my anger at this latest threat. Funny, I haven’t been in a fight in years, and now I’m ready to pound heads for the second time in two days. I might not be above taking down a clique of middle school girls. But I sense that’s not what my niece needs right now.
“Am I gross?” she whispers. Huge, green eyes turn up to me, ripping my heart from my chest. My god, she’s serious.
“What?” My voice sounds shell-shocked.
“Am I… I mean…?” Tears well in her eyes, snaking down her cheeks as she swats them away.
“Is that what they said?” I force out. I don’t care anymore. The parenting books can go screw themselves. I cross the room and drop beside her on the bed.
