Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4)

by Jaine Diamond

  Trey had checked in, too, a couple of times that I knew of, since our meeting at Brick House. He called Cary brother. He seemed really nice, and like he cared about Cary, despite the friction Cary gave him in the meeting.

  Cary’s former lead singer, Dean, had dropped by a few days ago, and just like Cary said he would, he’d scaled the fence and let himself in. I’d run into him in the kitchen and almost pissed myself. He’d given me a lazy smile, and after I directed him to where he could find beer, he’d spent a few hours with Cary in the studio.

  People definitely seemed to like Cary and wish good things for him. That goodwill came from somewhere. Obviously, he’d earned it. And I’d heard him on the phone talking to friends, colleagues. He seemed to have pretty good rapport with them all, though the conversations never really got personal.

  As far as I could tell, his friends never seemed to ask him to come out and do stuff with them.

  This seemed really wrong. I had three messages on my phone today alone from friends asking to see me. He was a former rock star. How did it get to this?

  This tiny, closed world he’d constructed for himself, where everything was in his control. Where he lived so alone.

  At first, I’d wondered if he was crazy, like people said. But there was so much more to Cary Clarke than the eccentric recluse people seemed to think he was.

  All you had to do was hear the stories behind Rose and Liam, and why they worked for Cary, to know that the man had a big heart.

  Rose lived in her son’s guesthouse, just two blocks from Cary’s place. She’d put a flyer in his mailbox one day that she was offering her cleaning services. Cary had called her and when she came for an interview, she’d told him her son took care of her housing but she still wanted to work. When he asked her why, she’d confessed to him that she was lonely since her husband died. So Cary hired her, paying her a generous salary even though she only worked for him once a week.

  Liam had been Cary’s bodyguard when he was with Alive. His wife was ill, he was already a dad, and when the tour ended, Cary had put Liam and his family up in a condo that was a five minute drive from Cary’s house, and kept him on salary—even though he so rarely called him in to work.

  Rose and Liam had told me these stories themselves when I’d asked how they’d come to work for Cary.

  Obviously, the man cared about people. He was generous and thoughtful.

  Yet I knew I had to ask myself some painful questions about where this was headed. Eventually.

  I was so drawn to him, but I didn’t know where that would leave me. If I loved him, could he love me back? Or was this just another relationship that was doomed to failure while I refused to want to see the signs?

  At some point, would he push me away like he seemed to push everyone else away?

  Despite Cary’s obvious kindness towards Liam and Rose, they were only allowed into his life in limited ways, at specified times, for a specific function. His employees, the band, his family, his friends, they all had a place, at arm’s length from him, and that was where he kept them.

  I had my place, too. Much closer to him, but it still had its parameters.

  I was his employee. His lover.

  For now.

  But what happened when this album was done?

  Did he really mean it when he called me his protégé? When he said he wanted me to manage his studio and be part of his team?

  He’d said other things, too. Things that gave me hope. Like that he was thinking about going down to Little Black Hole to see the band. And he said it like he meant it.

  But he hadn’t done it yet.

  As I walked into the studio, I found the bathroom door open, the light inside turned off. I found Cary lying on the floor of the great room on his back, wearing jeans and nothing else. With his guitar on top of him, staring at the ceiling. His hair was damp.

  I smiled to myself as I watched him there for a moment. “What are you doing?” I asked softly.

  He cracked a small smile and turned his head to look at me. “Working.”

  “This is what a great musician looks like when he’s working?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I went to sit on the floor next to him.

  “Wow. You look incredible.” He surveyed my short and fitted, asymmetrical black dress.

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s the occasion?

  “I’m going out with the girls tonight.” I hadn’t told him this before. I wasn’t sure why.

  Maybe I didn’t want him to feel left out. Like I was abandoning him to go out into a world he didn’t belong to anymore?

  “Cool,” he said. He didn’t seem upset about it. He put the guitar aside and sat up to face me. “Where are you going?”

  “Just to a bar. You know, drinks and drunken conversation. It’s Saturday night.”

  “Is my sister going?”

  “No. Just Danica and a few other girls. Her crazy twin sister, her cousin, and a few others.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  I smiled. “You want to come?”

  “I would, but the girls probably wouldn’t appreciate me crashing girl time.”

  “True.” Not true. I was pretty sure if I dragged his gorgeous ass into that bar and told them he didn’t get out much, they’d be pouring shots straight down his throat and dragging him onto the dance floor. “How about you?” I asked him. “Do you ever hang out with Xander? Have a guys’ night? Invite him over for vodka shots and pickles?

  “Sometimes,” he said vaguely.

  I wondered about that. Courteney had told me that he didn’t talk to Xander as much, ever since she hooked up with him.

  “Are you still upset about him and your sister?” I probed gently.

  “No. I’m not upset that they’re together. I just hated the way they got together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was living here at the time, and so was he. I could feel something brewing. It was the way he acted when her name came up. I didn’t know what it was. I assumed he was hot for her, but I told him to leave her alone, and I actually thought he would. Then I caught them fucking in the poolhouse.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  “Yeah. He was on top of her. I saw them through the window. They had the blinds open. They didn’t mean for me to see that, but I did. Just pissed me off that he didn’t give a shit that I’d asked him to stay away from her.”

  “I can see how you’d be pissed about that,” I said carefully. “But maybe they were in love and it was unreasonable to ask them to stay apart.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “The point is it’s your house and you like things your way.”

  He studied me, maybe thinking that over. “Is that unreasonable?”

  “No. But, Cary… you can’t control everyone in your life as condition of being in your life.”

  He got up and walked away, almost leaving the room.

  He’d never done that when we were talking before.

  He stood by the entrance into the studio kitchen, looking in, like he was gazing out the window. I really didn’t love having to talk to the back of his head, but I pressed on. Firmly but gently.

  “You and Xander go way back, right? You were in Alive together, toured together?”

  “Yup.”

  “You don’t have to talk to me about this, Cary. It’s not in my job description to pry. But I just hope you talk to someone.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Do you ever really talk to anyone?”

  “About what?”

  “You know about what,” I said. “You have friends who care about you. No matter what, I don’t think you could make them not care. They’re just waiting for you to talk to them.”

  “Are they?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned back to me. “I stopped trying to make sense of the world outside those doors a long time ago.”

  “Like when
Gabe died?” I asked gently.

  He took a breath. I could practically see him doing that deep, slow breathing thing he did. And I didn’t want to upset him. But I did need him to talk. To me. To someone.

  “There were a lot of people who were supportive,” he said, not really answering that. “People who loved me. People who still love me. I know that. But the world went on without him. They went on without Gabe, and for whatever reason, I just couldn’t do that.”

  “I get that. But… he’s gone. And at some point you have to really deal with it.”

  “It might not always be visible to you, but I deal with it every single day. And keeping my anxiety in check… it’s a constant process.”

  “How do you do that?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.

  “Breathing. I do this box breathing technique one of my therapists taught me, where you breathe slowly and deeply and hold, to a four-count. It’s used by athletes, the Navy SEALs. It helps you control stress and anxiety by calming your nervous system. And I meditate, sometimes. In the moment, when I feel anxiety coming on, I ask myself questions to challenge my fears about what could actually go wrong, versus what I’m irrationally afraid will go wrong. That, combined with breathing, is the best way I’ve ever found to prevent a panic attack.”

  “What about self-care?” I asked him. “I know you work out in your gym a few times a week. Do you do other things to make sure you’re taking care of yourself?”

  “Yeah, I do. Actually, I have a list somewhere…” He went into the control room and I waited, getting up to sit on the couch, while he returned and handed a single piece of paper to me. “This is a list of self-care stuff I’m supposed to do. I do most of it.”

  I started skimming the printed list. “Coffee?!” I gaped at him. “You’re supposed to stop drinking coffee? It says here that caffeine can increase anxiety.”

  “Your point?” he said dryly, settling in next to me.

  “I’ve been supplying you with this shit.”

  “And I love it.” He played with a lock of my hair, but I slapped his hand away lightly.

  “That is it, Mr. Bossy. You can’t flirt your way out of this.”

  “Hey, I showed you the list. I’m not hiding anything.”

  “We’re switching to decaf tea,” I said, ignoring that.

  “Sounds delicious,” he said sarcastically.

  “We can try a million flavors if we have to, until we find something that you like to replace the coffee.”

  “Gimme that.” He tried to take the paper from me, but I snatched it back.

  “I am keeping this and I am going to memorize it. There’s yoga on here!!” I shouted, holding the paper out of his reach as I scanned the rest of it. “Why didn’t you say so? We’re totally doing yoga together.”

  “As long as you don’t mind every session ending in sex.”

  I gave him a look.

  “You look so good in your yoga wear.”

  “You’ve been watching me do yoga?”

  “You do it in the backyard. How can I not look?”

  “Okay, fine. If you do your yoga with me like a good boy, I’ll be so turned on, I’ll probably pounce on you afterwards anyway.”

  “Yeah?” He slid a little closer to me, so his thigh pressed to mine. He slipped his hand over my knee, his fingers flirting with the hemline of my short dress. “How about right now?”

  “I can’t right now.” I kissed him softly on the lips. “You’ll just have to wait ’til tomorrow to get bendy with me. I have a date with the girls, remember?”

  “Right,” he said, sounding adorably disappointed.

  I laughed. Then I slipped my hand over his and gave him a little squeeze. “Are you talking to someone these days, Cary? Like any of the therapists you’ve casually mentioned?”

  He sighed and confessed, “It’s been a while.”

  “Did I ever tell you I used to see a therapist on a regular basis? Pretty much from the time I was eighteen until a few years ago?”

  “No. You didn’t mention that.”

  “Well, I probably haven’t mentioned my family, either. They’re a little… difficult. My upbringing was… complicated. The short version is I basically grew up on the road.”

  “Don’t tell me your parents were in a band.”

  “I wish. I would’ve been happy if they could hold down any job, frankly. We lived out near Osoyoos, kind of in the middle of nowhere, just me and my parents and my older sister. We had this RV that wasn’t anything special but it was nicer than our house. My parents were kinda vagabonds. We travelled more than we lived at home. And then when I was thirteen, we came to Vancouver. My mom’s parents lived here. She’d had a falling out with them when she was nineteen and left, and never came back. Until they were basically dying. We moved into their house in Kitsilano. They had this big place blocks from the beach. It seemed like a mansion to me, but it was old and not all that nice. Still, nicer than anything I’d ever known. And my grandparents were great.”

  I paused, feeling unexpectedly emotional at the memory.

  Cary squeezed my hand.

  “My grandpa died two weeks after we arrived. He was already on his deathbed when I met him.”

  “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

  “Me, too. My grandma lived for another three years and then she died, too. I was really sad about it. But I still loved living in that old house and being close to the beach. And I got to meet Danica when I was thirteen. We were in school together. I’d never gone to school before that. My parents home schooled me, in theory. Danica helped me get used to school. She helped me with so much. She was kinda my Gabe, I guess.”

  Cary didn’t say anything.

  “So, after my grandma died, we lasted about another half a year in that house. My parents at least let me finish high school. Then they packed us up and we took off. They never came back. I did.”

  “You came back to the city alone?”

  “Yup.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “It was.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Because I wanted to be here. I didn’t want to live on the road anymore.”

  “I can relate to that.”

  “Well, trust me, this life was no rock star tour. And living with my family was not easy. It was never easy when I was little, but I didn’t know anything different. When we hit the road again just before I turned eighteen, I knew different. I’d seen how it was in Danica’s family. They were always a little eccentric, but they were solid. She would complain about how self-centered they all were, and they definitely had a flair for drama. But there was so much love in their homes. They were so close. We’d go visit one of her aunts and there would be all this food. They’d treat me like one of their own. My family wasn’t like that. We had so little, yet they were always out for themselves. They weren’t evil or anything, just ridiculously narcissistic for a bunch of people who lived in an RV with no working shower.”

  Cary actually smiled a little at that.

  “I needed to see a therapist for a few years to sort through my childhood,” I explained. “I actually saw a few. Sometimes you need to, to find one that’s a good fit for you and what you’re going through. I just want you to know, I know what therapy is like. And I know how it can help.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it can.”

  Okay. So at least I’d gotten him to admit that.

  His self-care list was great and all the techniques he used to manage his anxiety were great, and obviously they were working.

  But not working well enough.

  “You know,” I told him, “it does fit under my job description to set up an appointment for you. I’m sure we could arrange a virtual therapy session, anytime that works for you. Or maybe even a house call, if you’d ever like that.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  I smiled.

  “What time are you meeting the girls?” h
e asked me.

  I checked my phone. “Oops. About half an hour. I should go.”

  “Let them know you might be a few minutes late.” He was pulling out his phone, putting his bossy pants back on. “Liam will drive you.”

  “I can just take a cab, Cary.”

  “I’m getting Liam. I’d feel better knowing you have him on call to drive you around if you go barhopping. And to bring you home.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  “I can’t, Taylor,” he said. He didn’t look at me when he said it.

  He acted like he was fine with me going out without him. But as usual, with Cary, there was so much more to the story than met the eye.

  I watched him messaging Liam, and I tried to put myself in his shoes.

  I was going out tonight, with friends, without him… and maybe it was finally hitting me for the first time. How long he’d been going through all of this. Alone.

  How hard it must’ve been for him.

  And how much he’d missed out on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Taylor

  Saturday Night

  “This place is awesome. How long do you think it’ll last?”

  “Not long, unfortunately,” Danica said. “Madeleine put a lot of work into it.”

  “Well, it looks great.”

  We were leaning on the long, lit-up bar, just Danica and I, sipping our first drink of the evening. The bar in question had just opened, mere weeks ago. It was pretty much on the razor’s edge of the worst part of town, a block from “needle park” as we so fondly called it, in a once beautiful old building with a renovated interior. Danica’s aunt Madeleine’s interior design firm, where Danica worked, had handled the renovations.

  It was the first time Danica and I had checked it out together, and so far, so good. The DJ was playing chill, start-of-the-night music with just the right vibe—sexy—and they had an incredible cocktail list. There was cushy seating around well-spaced tables, a small danceable area at the back, a well-dressed, cool crowd, and basically, it was way too good to be true.

  It would probably be closed down by the next time we tried to come here. That seemed to be happening more and more with every hot new place we found.