by K. K. Allen
“Wolf, I presume.” I can tell from the way Mitch is searching my face that he’s already caught on to my befuddled expression.
“Yes, sir. Mitch Cassidy. I’m a huge fan of yours—and your daughter.”
Mitch laughs, relieving some of the tension I brought into the room. “You didn’t know my daughter could sing.”
I shake my head. “We’re still getting to know each other, sir.”
He makes a face. “None of that ‘sir’ crap. Mitch is fine.” He smiles. “I hear your tour is going well. And your chart rankings are phenomenal. Congratulations. I’m a fan of the latest album, but I’m hoping for more of that ‘Dangerous Heart’ sound on the next one.” He winks, and it’s clear he knows who wrote that song.
Hearing Mitch Cassidy compliment me might just be the highlight of my career. “Wow, thank you. It’s been quite the ride. And I agree. We’ve been working with a talented writer who’s chosen to stay anonymous.”
Mitch’s eyes crinkle, and I can see where Lyric gets her heart. She carries it in her eyes, just like her father. “Hopefully not forever.”
Lyric approaches us in that moment, and I almost forget that I’m mad at her. Her eyes are already pleading with me to not be upset. I’m not about to have this conversation here in front of her father, so I wrap an arm around her shoulder.
“Are you guys on break?” she asks.
I nod. “Yup. Someone said Mitch was here, and I wanted to introduce myself. I thought you left.”
She looks to her father and smiles. “I was caught up in old memories, and then we ran into each other. I really should get going, though. I have a million things to do for Europe.” When her eyes turn up to meet mine I want to ask her so many questions. “Walk me out?”
I nod and turn back to Mitch. “It was great to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He smiles, then looks at Lyric. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
Lyric hesitates, and I can feel her body stiffen. I’m so confused by her right now, and I have no idea how to interpret her reactions. “I think so. Maybe for a couple hours.”
“How about lunch? Can you make time for your old man?”
“Um, yeah. Okay. Let’s do lunch tomorrow.”
We wave goodbye, and I lead Lyric out to the front door. Once I’m sure we’re alone, I turn to face her. “What the hell was that?”
I don’t mean to sound angry, but what the fuck? Lyric blanches and steps away from me. Shit. I hate when she pulls away like this.
I pull her back and tilt her chin so her eyes meet mine. “You sing? You play? What else are you keeping from me?”
Her eyes turn down and then back up into mine. “I haven’t done that in years. My dad asked me to, and I couldn’t say no. It’s all in my past, though.”
“But why?” I demand. “Baby, you’re so good. Honestly, your voice is fucking amazing.”
She groans. “It’s just an old dream. It’s not what I want anymore.” Her eyes dart around us and I sigh, knowing she’s not about to divulge any more to me now.
“All right. I’ll see you tonight, then?”
She looks shocked, as if she’s expecting me to put up a fight. But I’m tired of fighting.
“Okay.” She wraps her arms around my waist and lifts up on her toes to kiss me. I can’t help it. I hesitate a little, still consumed with all the secrets. I don’t know what to expect from her. This girl that I love more than life scares the shit out of me.
“Wolf?”
I look down and close the gap between our lips. It’s a hurried kiss, one I know will leave us both unfulfilled, but I’ve got other things on my mind right now. She gives me another backward glance when she gets into the car, and then the driver takes off. It all feels wrong.
The same questions that tormented me when Lyric left impale me now. If it wasn’t for the entrance door to the studio crashing open against the brick exterior, I might just be stuck in my thoughts for hours.
“Fuckface! Get in here. You have five minutes to piss or whatever, and then we need to work.” Derrick is holding the door open for me, Terese by his side.
“Was that Lyric?” Terese asks. “Does she know her dad’s here?”
I walk through the door and give her a nod. “Yeah, she knows. She went back to the house to work.”
Everything about me is tense for the rest of the day. Luckily, today is mostly about the instrumentals, not the vocals. That’s probably not a good thing, actually. It gives me too much time to sit back and stew when I should be listening to the cuts. Usually Crawley would be heavily involved in this part, jumping in to give his two cents. I hate to admit it, but with him gone, I’m a bit lost.
When it comes time to listen to a rough playback of the chorus, I have a hard time focusing. Nothing sounds right. The pacing seems off, the guitar cut in too soon, and it’s just … missing something.
“What do you think, Wolf? We need to at least lock down the chorus today. I know you want to beat this thing to death, but we’re losing time.”
Our sound engineer is the shit. Vana’s been doing this for years and knows how to keep things moving in the studio. I respect her, but her push isn’t helping my attitude.
“Wait a sec.” I stand up and walk out of the room, hoping Mitch is still around.
Lucky for me, I find him right outside the studio door with his cell phone to his ear. When he sees me, he tells whoever it is he’ll call them back.
“Wolf. Everything okay?”
I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so nervous. Is it because I’m standing in front of the Mitch Cassidy? Or because Mitch is Lyric’s father? Or because of what I’m about to ask him?
“It’s kind of a long story, but our band manager, Crawley—”
He grimaces. “I’m aware of the prick. Go on.”
I laugh. “Okay, well we’re kind of between band managers right now, and usually I’d count on Crawley for his input.”
“What do you need. An ear?”
I stare at Mitch. I can’t believe I’m asking him this. “Could you? I mean, I don’t want to tell the guys, but I’m a little lost right now without him. He was a prick and I don’t regret letting him go, but he had a good ear.”
Mitch groans. “Crawley’s an ass. Never forget that. I’ll take a listen as long as you never admit to another soul what you just told me.”
I grin. Wow. This is really going to happen.
“Deal.”
The rest of the session goes much smoother, and my stress levels decrease as time goes on. Everyone in the room has mad respect for Mitch. He’s a fucking brilliant artist, and his feedback is on point. We can’t help but gravitate toward him after every take, asking him for approval. He never demands a thing, just lets us play and provides pointers on what to do to make everything better. And when he loves something, it’s like fireworks are going off with all the excitement in the room.
What are the odds? Lyric writes the song. I compose it. And Mitch fucking Cassidy is practically producing.
Unreal.
“Lyric,” I call out.
I’m the first one back at the house. Everyone else went out to dinner, but Lyric wasn’t answering her phone, so I decided to check on her.
“Babe?”
No response.
I walk down the long hallways and peer into every room of the main floor, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Panic sets in when I make it to the top of the staircase. This is stupid. I’m not going to check every single room in the house until I find her. She probably went for a walk. Or a run. We haven’t been on a run in a while, and there are plenty of scenic views to take in around here. And after seeing her father again, it would be very much like Lyric to go for a run to clear her mind.
Suddenly I feel like the shittiest boyfriend for being upset at her. She’s going through a lot, and I promised her patience. I groan, reaching for my phone to call her again.
I press the c
all button and wait. An acoustic song I recorded for her ringtone plays from somewhere downstairs, so I take the stairs two at a time as I track it. The sound is muffled, as if it’s buried in something, and once I reach the foyer I know it’s got to be in the kitchen.
Lyric’s purse is sitting on the stool under the island, so I grab it and shuffle through it. There it is, right at the end of the melody I created just for her. But as soon as my call ends, another call rings in, this ring tone a generic one. I click the “end” button to ignore the call. 4 missed calls from this number, it says. A possessive rumble takes over my chest. Who the fuck is blowing up Lyric’s phone?
Before the light dims, I look at the number closely. 206 area code. That’s Seattle, isn’t it? There’s only one person I know from Seattle that would call Lyric. Discomfort snakes through me as I think of the night in the club with Tony harassing Lyric, leaving me no choice other than to obliterate his face with my fist.
As much as I want to dig more to give me a reason to stake Tony out and end this now, I decide not to fuck up my relationship by snooping any more than I already have. I’ll just ask Lyric when I see her. That’s what a normal boyfriend would do. A normal boyfriend in an honest relationship. She’ll tell me what’s going on … I hope. Not that she’s been very forthcoming with information so far.
Groaning against the growing weight of questions that seems to just keep falling, I make my way downstairs to the bottom level of the house where the gym, theater, activity room, and some guest bedrooms are. Bingo. The light is on in the gym, and the door is cracked slightly. Of course she’s working out. It’s second best to running, and running is no fun in this humidity.
I push the door open to see Lyric stretching on a yoga mat with her back arched, stomach exposed, and pelvis high in the air. Her feet press flat against the floor as she contracts, releases to press her core into the mat, and then she’s arching her back again. The simple movement is sexy as fuck. And it doesn’t help that she’s wearing tiny pink shorts that cling to her body and a matching pink sports bra.
“Babe.” I’m instantly hard.
She’s got headphones in, but she must hear me over the music because she looks up in surprise and rips the buds out of her ears.
“Hey.”
Her eyes move to her phone in my hand. She swallows uncomfortably, and my heart sinks. I can’t take any more secrets.
Then Lyric adjusts herself, lowering herself to the floor and then sitting up, her eyes still on the phone.
“I tried calling you and found this,” I say, setting the device on the table beside me. I hesitate before coming clean. “You had a bunch of missed calls from Seattle.”
Her eyes narrow. “You looked through my phone?”
Heat burns my chest. What is she hiding? “No!” I pause, because it did feel like I was snooping a little bit. “Your phone rang after I found it in your purse, and it showed four missed calls. 206 area code is Seattle. So, who the fuck is blowing up my girlfriend?”
The shade of pink in Lyric’s cheeks keep darkening, only adding to the growing number of secrets. As much as I want to practice my patience with Lyric, I think I’m hitting my limit.
I watch as she swallows, her eyes carrying a hint of worry among the many layers of emotions she manages to carry so well. “Did you listen to the voicemails too?” she asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone.
“Should I?” I demand. “Is that the only way to find out what you’re hiding from me?”
Her eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “I have nothing to hide from you.”
“Then who is calling you?”
She lets out a deep sigh and raises her eyes to the ceiling. “Tony. I don’t recognize the number, but he left a voicemail. It’s no big deal. He wants me to call him, but I won’t. I already called Doug and asked him to talk to Tony, so hopefully soon he won’t bother me anymore.”
I clench my jaw. I believe her, but I’m no less pissed than before. One confession doesn’t negate all the other secrets, all the reasons I felt compelled to snoop in the first place. That’s not like me, but Lyric has me feeling paranoid and possessive.
She peers up at me through her lashes, sweat beading from her chest and stomach. “Come here,” she pleads. And just like that, my anger starts to fall away. All I see is Lyric. She’s all I want.
I remain standing to show her I won’t give in. Meanwhile, my mind and my dick have already given up the fight. My eyes peruse her body, fantasizing about taking her over the workout bench … or maybe right there on that pink yoga mat. My eyes meet hers.
“I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work this time, Lyric.”
She sighs with frustration and looks down, but I won’t let her shy away from facing me. There’s too much at stake.
“At least look at me when you’re going to deny me a piece of you,” I say, gritting my teeth to stop myself from raising my voice.
She flinches at my tone.
I take a few deep breaths before continuing, trying a new approach. “I get it, Lyric. You have secrets. You aren’t ready to tell me. But fucking look at me. I’d rather have you here with me than have you run away to deal with your secrets alone. You know I’m here when you’re ready to tell me. I can be patient. I promise. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, but I’m not letting you go.”
She lets out a relieved breath and nods, then stands up and walks to where I’m inclined against the wall. I let her lean in and kiss the side of my mouth. “I love you,” she whispers. Then she sighs again.
I think she knows I won’t say it back. It’s not that I don’t love her. I might love her more than she loves me. I’m just not ready to give her those words again. Not until she fully trusts me. Maybe I’m a jerk, but I’m holding those words hostage.
“So what are we going to do about all these secrets?” I keep my lips flat, but I can’t help the grinding of my teeth that hardens my jaw.
She leans back and looks me directly in the eyes. “Do you know when everyone will be back?”
“Not a clue. Maybe another hour or so,” I say. My heart beats faster with hope. “Want me to check?”
She nods. “If you don’t mind. There’s something I want to show you, but I’d rather it just be us.”
Before I can ask any questions, she steps away and walks toward the door of the gym. Before leaving the room, she turns to face me. “Meet me in the family room. At the piano.” As she says this, she bows her head slightly, but I catch the pain in her expression.
She’s about to let me in.
The moment she’s gone, I don’t waste a second. I send a group text telling everyone to stay away from the house for the next hour. The house is massive, but Lyric made it clear that she wants complete privacy, so that’s what I’ll give her. I’ll put Rex at the front door to make sure they don’t come in if I have to.
I freshen up in the bathroom and meet Lyric in the family room. She’s sitting behind the piano, looking down at her hands with a slight frown on her face. She’s changed out of her workout clothes and is now wearing a long, black jersey knit dress, her hair hanging loosely over one exposed shoulder.
“You okay, babe?”
She smiles as I approach, but not at me. “I am. Honestly, I worry more that my secret might sound silly to others. I don’t know why I refuse to tell anyone. I guess I’m just embarrassed that my childhood was less than stellar. I mean, growing up with Hollywood’s elite, you’d think I’d have it all. There’s nothing to complain about, right?”
“Babe, you’re talking to the right person. I’ve been there. You have every right to feel like you missed out on things. It’s the price we pay. There ain’t no heaven in fame.” I reach for her hand, which is still hovering over the piano keys, and squeeze. “You don’t have to prove a thing to me.”
This time her smile reaches her eyes. “I trust you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lyric
I play the first verse and then stop. Wo
lf is slowly making his way around the grand piano, waiting patiently and probably trying to not distract me, but his movements are making me anxious more than anything else.
“Come sit by me.”
He sits close, but not so close as to restrict my movements. He must sense that I’m about to unleash something fierce on this piano. I am.
I start the song over again, the soundtrack filling the cracks of my broken heart, caused by the story I’m about to tell.
“When I was sixteen, I moved in with my mom. You know that part.” I smile. “Playing piano was my getaway, always. I could have been in a packed mall on Christmas Eve or in the middle of an interstate, but if I was behind a piano, I was in my happy place. Untouchable. I was four when I started lessons, and by the time I was a teenager I could play anything by ear.
“When I moved in with my mom, I was bored to death. That’s when I started putting my lyrics to music. Composing became my escape from my lonely, shitty situation. And it all just came naturally. I was obsessed.” I smile as my fingers continue to dance along the keys. “I breathed, slept, ate, and drank my music. It was the only thing that kept my mind off the pain of my father sending me away. Of my mother not being there when I’d come home.
“On the few occasions she did come home, I barely saw her. She was always on her phone, going on dates with the wealthiest men she could find, and having spa days with women from the athletic club—you know, the ones that appear on that Housewives show? Yeah. Well, then one day she came home and heard me singing at the piano. I’ll never forget it. She finally saw me as something other than an unwelcome houseguest.
“She sat next to me, just like you’re doing now. She listened. It was the most attention she’d ever given me. Soon, we were smiling and laughing together. For the first time, thanks to music, I had a mother. I thought we finally had that bond that would keep us close, you know? The kind that mothers are supposed to feel for their kids before they’re even born. She seemed so proud of me.
“From then on, every time she came home, we spent hours together while I composed, and she would sing from my songbook. It was magical. When I was seventeen, I remember she had just come home from the recording studio and she was frustrated about something, so I played her a new song, knowing it would make her feel better. It was one I had been working on for a while, and I was excited to finally share it with her.”
