The It's Kind Of Personal (Complete 6 Book Series)ies

by Anna Brooks

  Three hours later, I power down my computer and unplug my phone from the charger. I take a lemon-flavored water out of the small fridge and scroll through one of my social media sites. One of the things I do, which I’d never admit to anybody, is check the band’s page at least daily. I don’t look because I’m a fan; it’s my dirty little secret, my insecurity rearing its ugly head. Fans post pictures of the concerts, meet and greets, and sometimes photos after the sets when the guys all go out.

  It’s a form of torture looking at my boyfriend with random women. The band’s fan base ranges from young, single skanks to older couples, and I pray to see more of the latter as I scroll through the most recent posts. The picture I’m looking at right now is Liam with one of the former. A blond-haired girl—I won’t call her a woman because she looks like a doll with big, fake boobs and clothes that could pass for a swimsuit. She has both of her arms wrapped around his waist, her ugly face pressed against his chest. His eyes are on the camera, and the only solace I have is that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Sure, his arm is slung over her shoulder, and he appears happy, but I know him. The look he saves for me—when his eyes are slightly squinted, and the left side of his lips rise higher than the right—is never in any of these pictures.

  “Stupid,” I mumble to myself, shutting the screen off and tucking my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

  I grab an apron to tie around my waist and head out to the bar, ready to sling drinks and make small talk before I pass out and do it all again.

  Chapter 4

  Liam

  A BUMP IN THE road jostles my head, and I sit up, not ready to be awake. Last night was shit on top of shit, and all I want to do is sleep, but I can’t even do that. Given the voices coming from the front of the bus, I figure I’m probably the last one up. Not a surprise since I hate mornings.

  Despite being tired still, I slept the best I had in a long time after talking to Meara last night. She fell asleep before I did; her cute little snoring was a fucking symphony to me. I dreamed she was in my arms and now I have to face the reality that she’s not even in the same state as I am.

  My feet drag as I make my way to the small bathroom, and by the time I’m finished taking a leak and splashing water on my face, I feel slightly more human.

  The voices stop when I sit down and grab an apple from a suctioned bowl in the center of the table. “What?”

  The three other men in the room all look at each other, but nobody says anything. Seven years of living on a bus with these fuckers and I can tell something isn’t right. A nervous energy surrounds me and I’m already getting ready for a fight. Lately, it always seems it’s me against them.

  I’m the only one in our group who’s in a relationship. They want to have chicks back on the bus, but I don’t. They keep signing us up for all this stupid shit like judging bikini contests and scoring Jell-O fights. Of course, I have to go with them because I’m part of the band, but I’m over it. Been over it, and frankly, they’re starting to piss me off because they’re basically disrespecting my relationship with Meara.

  “Will one of you just spit it out already?” My stomach tightens, preparing for whatever bad news they’re going to throw at me this time, and I toss the apple in the garbage can.

  Mike, the lead singer, clears his throat. “They want to add some more stops.”

  “Fuck,” I whisper harshly. On top of our differences in extracurricular activities, none of my band mates has the same views on the future of the band as I do. When we started out on the road at just eighteen, we had big dreams just like the thousands of other bands out there. Big lights, big cities, and big paychecks. Where we are now, touring and signed with a record label, is somewhere we never thought we would actually be. And I hate it. But they love it. I liked it for a minute but got over the vanity of it all pretty fuckin’ fast.

  I’m constantly fighting an internal battle between what’s right for the band and what’s right for me. The guys are my family. Jamie is my real brother by marriage. My mom married his dad when we were both only four years old. We’re as close as brothers can be, and I’d do anything for him. I just don’t know how much longer I can do this for everyone else. I’m hanging on for them because it was all a dream at one point, and I’d feel like a bitch if I backed out. I feel like it’d be the lowest, most selfish form of betrayal.

  But Meara, she’s my fucking life ... and I miss her.

  “Come on, guys. It’s been months. I wanna go home.” To see my girl, to sink my cock inside her of instead of using my own hand. I swear if playing the drums doesn’t give me carpal tunnel, then I’ll get it from jacking off so much.

  “They’re big venues, though, man.” Jamie speaks up, his deep voice matching the bass he plays. “I know this isn’t what we had planned, but it’s a great opportunity for all of us.”

  My head shakes on its own accord and I blow air out of my nose. “And I suppose I’m outnumbered here, right? You already talked about it and all want to do it?”

  “Sorry, Lee.” Gabe looks me in the eye; his weird gray eyes always give me the chills when he looks directly at me. “It’s what’s best for the band.”

  “Yeah, right. The fuckin’ band. That’s all you fuckers give a shit about. We weren’t even supposed to last this long!” I clamp my jaw shut to prevent saying something I’ll regret. The truth is, I love the band and I love the guys. But I love Meara more. And I’m so beyond done with this shit. The late nights, the constant headaches, the grabby women, the loud parties, the fucking radio interviews where they ask the same questions over and over.

  “We only said we’d try it for a year, and if we didn’t make anything of ourselves, then we’d quit. But we made it, Liam. We fucking made it.” Mike speaks up again and rubs his ringed fingers over the top of his bald head. “How can you not want this? It’s what we dreamed about, man. You need to get your shit together. I won’t have you fucking this up—”

  “Excuse me?” I stand and lean over to get in his face.

  Gabe rises out of his seat and shakes his head at me. “You fucked up again last night, but nobody was gonna call you on it. Everyone’s so fucking worried they’re gonna push you over the edge again, so they keep their mouths shut.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  “Four songs, asshole. You fucked up four—”

  “It was one fucking song, and it was two goddamned beats.”

  Mike shakes his head while Gabe walks back to his bunk and Jamie puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s not the first time, Lee.” Mike’s voice has softened, and I slump back into the bench seat. “I know you want out, but you’re under contract. We’re not asking you to extend it, we’re just asking for a few more shows. Can’t you at least give us the next six months? Then you can do whatever the fuck you want. This is huge for us who actually stay true to their word and want this band to be successful. I’m sure the princess would understand.”

  “Watch yourself,” Jamie warns Mike before I even have a chance to speak up. Jamie loves Meara. She’s like a sister to him, just as he’s a brother to her. Not that she needs any more brotherly figures—besides her older brothers, Pierce and Declan, she also has the guys at the bar. It gives me such a sense of peace knowing she’s taken care of and safe when I can’t be there. Which is too fucking much.

  “That was low, Mike,” I growl.

  “It’s the truth, Lee.”

  I take off my baseball hat and toss it on the table. “She always understands. She has always understood. And I hope you all understand when I say I’m done after this. Six months, then I’m gone.”

  * * *

  “Hey, it’s Meara, leave a message.”

  Beep.

  “Hey, it’s me. We’re about to go on, but I wanted to talk to you for a minute first. I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll just call when I’m done… love you.” I disconnect and shove my phone in my pocket.

  I wish I could tell her in person, but we’re booked solid
and I can’t get a flight out to visit. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when we can finally begin the countdown to the rest of our lives together. I had been contemplating cutting ties with the band since I signed the contract over a year ago. I’m able to save money, and in turn, provide a better future for Meara and our kids when we have them. So, that’s been one of the huge driving forces in my choice to continue to tour.

  The rest of the ride this morning was hell. Everyone avoided me, which was a good thing because I’m wound so tight right now that I don’t even know what would make me snap… anything, probably.

  I’ve had many great times. My boys have my back and I have theirs, but when I finally told them I was done, that brotherhood quickly morphed into an awkward silence and unspoken anger. Not only is being away from Meara slowly killing me, but so is putting on a fake act of happiness around the band. It’s like staying in a marriage for the kids. The kids can always sense the tension, no matter how much the parents try to fake it. And they might think it’s what’s best for the kids, but when people are happier apart, they shouldn’t stay together to please anyone else.

  The amount of vodka I consume to make it all go away isn’t helping me much, either. In fact, it’s not helping me at all anymore. The only thing that will make the pain go away is getting off this damn bus and going home.

  Home.

  To Meara. She is my home.

  “Five minutes.” Jamie sticks his head in the room backstage and nods at me.

  I lift my chin in acknowledgment.

  He makes a fist and silently taps the doorframe a couple of times before closing it. He has something he wants to say but knows it should wait. Now is not the time to get into it about the band. Our heads don’t need to be any more messed up than they already are.

  To stretch out my arms before the show, I go through my routine of twists and pulls. Then I take two shots of vodka and decide I need a third and a fourth before I meet the rest of the guys on stage.

  The high I used to get from walking on stage is gone. Nonexistent. There’s just nothing there anymore. Isn’t your job supposed to be fun? Aren’t you supposed to love going to work? Despite what people think—that it’s all fame and fortune—it’s still my job… that I only have for another six months. I wonder if I’ll miss it, though. They say the grass is always greener and some shit.

  Mike turns around and glares at me because, for the third time tonight, I’m off beat and I know it. I ignore his stare and skip another one to get back on rhythm. Thank God this is our last song.

  My mind is all over the fuckin’ place; I wonder if quitting is the right thing to do. Thinking Meara would kick my ass for knowing the only reason I want to is because of her. Because I want to marry her and start a family. Have a normal life. I guess it’s not just her. It’s the possibility of what my future could be. A house, an actual bed to sleep in, my woman in my arms, kids, a dog.

  But the band. Fuck me. They’re my family. And I know they want me to be happy, but I can’t leave them. It’s selfish. We started this together; we made promises to each other, and what the hell kind of man does that make me if I leave?

  Is it really selfish?

  No. I can’t live my life for someone else. No matter who it is. I wanted to live the dream—the rock star life—until I realized how much I missed being at home. Normality. Simplicity. I’ve gotta stick with my decision; I’m quitting when my contract is up. It doesn’t matter how big we are or how big we could get; nothing is worth being away from Meara any longer.

  Instead of tossing my sticks to the crowd, I drop them on the ground and walk off stage and straight to the bus. I’m sweaty and agitated. My brain is throbbing. And my fucking heart hurts.

  A people pleaser is what my mom always called me, and she’s right. I’ve always been the one to sacrifice what I wanted or what I believed in to make everyone else happy. When I saw what my mom went through with the divorce, even though I was young, I still remember doing everything I could to make her happy. I helped around the house and tried to be the man of the house, even after she remarried, because I didn’t want anything to ruin her happiness. The last time I remember honestly being happy was before I decided to leave Meara back home and go on tour. She’s my happy. And I’m fucking sick of pleasing everyone else but myself and putting the love of my life through the same torture by being away from her.

  Well, no more.

  I get on the bus and strip my clothes off then take a cold shower, thankful for the silence because the guys are still partying backstage. As soon as I get out, I throw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and grab a bottle of vodka from the cabinet.

  This is wrong, and I know it. Alcohol isn’t going to solve anything, but right now, I need it. Aside from Meara, it’s the only other thing that takes the edge off. And since she’s not here, the next best thing will have to do. I just need it for a little while longer, for half a year. Then she can go back to being my addiction.

  It doesn’t even burn anymore as it goes down. After a few long swallows, I wipe my chin and twist the cap back on then go toward my bed. I stumble on a shoe but manage to straighten myself out, and I collapse onto my memory foam mattress.

  When I grab my phone, I see a text from her apologizing for missing my call, but she was busy and didn’t feel it vibrate. I scroll through my contacts and pause with my finger above her name. She knows me so well, and she’ll know something’s up if I call her now. The last thing she needs is to worry about me. My fingers fumble with the buttons as I try to send a text back, so I click off the screen and close my eyes. The phone slips out of my hand and its crash to the floor sounds loud in my ears.

  My head feels lighter and the worry begins to fade. The only thing I can think about at this moment is how I only have to do this for less than a year. Then my princess can finally live her fairy tale.

  Chapter 5

  Meara

  “I’M REALLY SORRY TO bug you, Jamie, but he’s not answering and I’m worried. Is he with you?” I bite my thumbnail and pace back and forth in front of my bed. My imagination gets the best of me, and I picture Liam in a ditch—bleeding, broken, or dead. Or locked in a bathroom. Or in jail. Even if he doesn’t have the time to call me after the show, I’ve always gotten a text … even if it was at four or five in the morning, I always at least got a text.

  “He’s in his bunk.”

  Relief that he’s okay and fear that he didn’t text grips me at the same time like a vise. “Okay. Thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

  “You want me to wake him?”

  “No!” I yell. “I just wanted to make sure he was safe.” I sit down and let out a sigh. “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

  He chuckles, and his voice vibrates in the receiver. “Funny. He talks about you so much I feel like you’re on this damn bus with us.”

  “Is that hostility I sense?” I ask seriously.

  “Yeah, sorry. We just have some shit going on.”

  That catches my attention and I sit up straight. Lee hasn’t mentioned anything happening with the band. “Like what? What’s going on?”

  “I … He … I’ll let Liam tell you. It should come from him.” A muffled sound comes through and he says, “Hey.” He must have covered the phone to talk to someone else. “He’s up now. Just went to the bathroom. I’m sure he’ll call you soon, all right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  After I end the call, I stand up, and then sit back down. My knees bounce and I chew on my fingernail. Instead of letting a million scenarios invade my brain, I get up, put some clean clothes on, and go downstairs. Nothing a few hours of mind-numbing paperwork won’t fix.

  It’s still early, only nine, and nobody will be in the bar for another hour since we don’t open until eleven. As I wait for my computer to power on, I twist in the chair and my eyes land on one of my favorite pictures of Liam and me in the pub. I’m sitting on top of the bar, and we have our arms wrapped around ea
ch other. I hadn’t gotten my butterfly tattoo yet, so my left arm was bare. His gauges were small, the same size they are now. My head is resting on his chest with my eyes closed and I wear a completely relaxed smile on my face. His eyes are closed as well, but he’s kissing the top of my head.

  It’s moments like those. The ones where the entire world ceases to exist, where it’s just us. No screaming fans. No customers hollering for refills. No bills that need to be paid. We’re together. Those moments make the struggle worth it. I want more moments like that. And with those thoughts, I allow one tear to fall from each of my eyes.

  My thoughts seem irrational sometimes, because the insane fear that I’m going to get the call one day that says, ‘I’m sorry, princess, but I cheated on you,’ creeps into my veins and pulses against my skin. Of course, it’s something that I know is a possibility. Of course, I do. But … it’s been seven years, and he’s never given me a reason not to trust him. And I have to. I have to trust him. I do trust him. I trust him with my heart and my life, always have and always will.

  Until now. And with Jamie’s cryptic words, I fear the worst.

  “Fuck this.”

  I walk out of the office and through the bar. Sun shines through the small windows and dust scatters with each step. Once I reach the back, I push through the two sets of doors and get to my car. I make a quick stop at the gas station on the way, and then I pull into the parking lot and walk down the steps through the sand, finally hopping up on a huge rock. This place always brings me peace; it has a special place in my heart. I don’t think I could ever move away, strictly because of this place.

  Lake Michigan is calm today; only small ripples meet the shoreline and a soft swoosh sounds each time the wave crashes. I open the pack of cigarettes I bought, put one in my mouth, and light it, inhaling the smooth menthol.