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“Tomorrow night.”

  My silence urges him on.

  “I got a call from Dark Tide’s manager, and he said they want you to open for them.”

  “Look,” I snap. “I appreciate you’re trying to break me out of this mood with black humor, but fuck it, John, I wanted that concert. Playing a prank isn’t going to cheer me up.”

  “It’s not a prank,” he levels. “They’re serious. I don’t know what the hell happened—maybe they looked you up on YouTube—but they want you to open for their concert. It’s only a few people, not as big as they’re used to, but it’s good for you.”

  “And the tickets we sold?” I slouch against the front of the building.

  Kendall stands before me, hands on hips.

  “They get transferred over.”

  Holy shit. “How does that even work?” I ask. “I play classical, they’re rock.”

  “I don’t know. I’m the messenger, that’s all. You need to talk to them about the logistics. I’ll email you their contact details in a few.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” I’m still hesitant to believe it. None of it makes sense.

  “I’ll be in touch later.”

  John disconnects, leaving me staring at the phone in my hand.

  “What’s happened?”

  I look up and meet Kendall’s concerned eyes. “I’m still playing.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m opening for Dark Tide.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Yep. Holy shit.

  SEVEN

  Rey

  “Self Esteem” – The Offspring

  “Did she get the news?” I crowd Rick into a corner while we wait on the lift.

  He gently urges me back a step with a finger to my shoulder. “I spoke with her publicity guy, so I guess so.”

  “You didn’t talk to her yourself?”

  “No,” Rick drones. “I didn’t exactly ask for her personal number.”

  I stare the fucker down as the signal dings to say our ride has arrived, working out whether I’d get punished for laying him out or not.

  “Come on.” Rick steps into the lift as the doors slide open. “The others are waiting on us.”

  I follow him in, pulling a face. Fuckers can wait as long as they have to. Not as though there’s any practice without me to sing, is there?

  “We’ve got two hours there, and then I have to rush you guys over to a radio interview at four.” He drops the facts while staring at his phone.

  “Epic.” I fucking hate radio interviews.

  At least when there’s a camera on you, you can act up and show personality through gestures. Clown around. Radio… I hate it. Listening to myself afterwards always gives me hell; I sound dull as an unstrung drum.

  “Find out if she knows,” I instruct. “She’ll need to come in and do a sound check.”

  “I’ve got the guys jacked up to do that in the morning.”

  I nod, aiming for nonchalance, but eh, kind of hoped she’d show this afternoon.

  “About time, fuckers,” Toby exclaims as our lift opens on the lobby.

  Kris rises from one of the plush sofas with his phone in hand, our bassist nowhere to be seen.

  “Where the hell is Em?”

  Toby’s face falls as he thumbs in the direction of the hotel bar. “Pete’s gone to get him.”

  “And here you are bitching about waiting on me.” I join Kris as he drops back into the seat. “How long has he been in there?”

  Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him since we checked out the venue yesterday.

  “Can’t be sure.” Toby rubs the back of his neck. “Possibly this morning?”

  “Possibly last night,” Kris mumbles.

  “Fuck it.” I push to my feet and head off in the direction of the alcohol. If a hulk of a man like Pete hasn’t got the idiot out here yet, then it ain’t happening anytime soon without some not-so-gentle verbal persuasion.

  I make it as far as the door to the dimly lit lounge before I’m recognized. Fuck fame.

  “Rey!”

  I ignore the blonde thing and keep hustling.

  “Rey, you goddamn moron.”

  Hey, now…. I whirl on the woman and get a weird sense of déjà vu. “What did you call me?” Where the fuck is Pete when you need him?

  Oh, yeah… thanks, Em.

  “Seriously? Is your memory that lousy?” She lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

  Curvy little thing looks quite delicious in a figure-hugging skirt and top thingy.

  “Have we…?” I flick a finger between us. Her lips flatten, and it dawns on me where the fuck I’ve seen her before. “Café girl!”

  “Yeah,” she drones. “Café girl. Anyway—”

  “I’d love to stop and chat, but babe, I’m a little busy. Another time, yeah?”

  Her hands stamp her hips. This bitch isn’t amused. “Busy doing what?”

  A holler drifts from inside the lounge bar. Her darkly made up eyes shift in the direction of the ruckus.

  “That.” I thumb toward the bar. “Nice seeing you again, though.”

  She catches my arm as I step away. “No. You’re not blowing me off that easy. Tabitha’s looking for you.”

  “She’s here?” Fuck. Did that sound as eager as I think it did?

  Judging by the wide-eyed stare I’m currently receiving, it did. Damn.

  “Yeah. She’s at the reception, trying to get ahold of you.”

  I snort. “Good luck with that.” We don’t pay extra under the table for the hotel staff to give our whereabouts out to any old person off the street.

  The doors to the lounge bar burst open, Pete hustling one very inebriated Emery out of the place in an arm bar while the moron sings Offspring’s “Self Esteem” as loud as he fucking can.

  Shit.

  “Follow.” I gesture for Café Girl to tag along, half-jogging to catch up with Pete so I can clip Emery around the back of the head. “What the fuck, man?”

  “Hey,” he greets with a huge smile. His free hand fumbles against his jeans, his fucking feet tangling in themselves. The only thing that saves him from going down face-first is Pete’s hold on him. “Check this out.” Somehow, amongst the tangle of limbs and scuffed feet, he manages to pull his phone out.

  I take it from him, wrinkling my nose at the home screen. “You rearranged your apps?”

  “Nah.” He chuckles as Pete dumps him on the sofa beside Kris’s. “Open Messenger.”

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Café Girl murmurs, leaning in close. “I’ll go get Tabitha.”

  “Tabitha?” Toby asks, watching the tidy thing as she hustles across the lobby.

  “Yeah, Tabby.” I fight the urge to look up and search her out, focusing instead on the most recent message in Emery’s inbox. Bitch. No wonder he’s a fucking mess.

  “I’m going to buy her a ticket, man,” Em rambles, spread-eagled over the cushions. “Bring her out to join us for the rest of the tour.”

  “Fuck off,” Kris mutters.

  He hates the manipulating piece of shit as much as I do. Fuck, as much as all of us do.

  “She’s not coming anywhere near the tour,” I snap, tossing the phone back at him.

  It ricochets off his arm, leaving him in a heap on the floor as he tries to retrieve it. “Come on, Rey.”

  “Come on, nothing. If she wants to play fuckin’ mind games with you when we’re home, then fine. But you’re not flying her here to do it.”

  “Jesus, man,” Toby says with a frown. “You’d spend a grand to bring the bitch here?”

  “We’re getting married,” Em states as though it’s the solve-all for his love fiasco. “I haven’t asked her yet, but she’ll say yes.”

  “And I thought I was a suicidal masochist,” Kris mumbles, still engrossed in his phone.

  “We all done here?” Rick looks hopefully toward our ragtag bunch, completely unaware of the storm that approaches behind him.

  “What’s the end game, Rey?” Tabith
a blazes past our manager as though he’s not even there. “Why would you have me opening for you?”

  “Hi, Tabby.” I grin at her, thumbs hooked in the pockets of my jeans. “Nice to see you again, too.”

  “Fuck hellos.” She thrusts her arms across her chest, enhancing the ladies. “Why are you doing this?”

  I shrug. “Seemed like a fair compromise.”

  “Was it your idea?” She takes a look around at the group, scowling when her gaze lands on Emery and his goofy grin. “Or did one of these muppets come up with it?”

  “Muppet.” Emery dissolves into girly giggles on the floor.

  “My idea.” I hook a hand around her elbow, ignoring the buzz it leaves in my palm. “Now hustle. We’re late for sound check.”

  “What?” Her boots dig in to the carpet. “Sound check?”

  “Yeah.” I wink at Toby as he slings an arm around Café Girl’s shoulders and guides her toward the exit. “You know how it works, babe. You sing, the sound geeks do their shit, and we all come up smelling of roses on the night.”

  “I know what a sound check is,” she bites out. “I don’t have my violin, though.”

  “Easy.” I give Emery a kick in the shin to get him moving as I walk us by. “We’ll go pick it up.”

  “This isn’t why I came here.” Tabby jerks her arm free of my hold.

  I catch the warning stare Kris gives me as he sets himself in motion.

  “Why are you here, then?” I ask. “Can’t be just to ask me why I’d let you open for us.”

  Her eyes stay focused on me, and yet her thoughts seem to be a thousand miles away as she stays mute.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  Epic. Girl’s stuck on me already; she just doesn’t realize it yet.

  EIGHT

  Tabitha

  “My Fight” – From Ashes to New

  The SUVs that we’re packed into are nothing short of pretentious penis extensions. Who the hell needs twenty-inch brushed metal rims just to get from A to B? I mean I get the whole upkeep of the image thing, but really.

  “You want help to get your stuff?”

  I snap my head around to glare at Rey where he sits on the opposite end of the seat, legs spread wide in an arrogant show of power. “I can manage, thank you.”

  Two black behemoths turned up outside the hotel, and considering there are eight of us who needed a lift, I assumed we’d split the group evenly between the two. No such luck. Kris called shotgun on the second vehicle, a guy who I’ve learned is called Toby hustling Kendall into the back seat, before their manager Rick decided to forgo the fold-out rear seats and piled a very drunk Emery into the cargo area.

  That left only Rey and the bodyguard, Pete, to travel in the lead vehicle with me.

  Yay. Seriously. Could this be any more awkward?

  “It’s the next block up, so wherever you can find a space to pull over,” I tell the driver.

  “What number?”

  “Two eighty-five. It’s the one with the patisserie on ground level there.”

  He gives a curt nod, and then proceeds to block the lane of traffic as he double parks. The two SUVs sit with their hazard lights flashing, cars honking at them, as I launch myself out the open door.

  “Loop the block,” Rey tells the guy as he proceeds to scoot across the seat.

  “Hey.” I lift a hand. “I said I can cope. It’s a violin. Hardly a struggle to carry on my own, you know.”

  “I know.” He thrusts both feet toward me, launching himself out the door. “But I want to see where you live.”

  I don’t get a chance to protest before he has the SUV door shut, and some guy hurls abuse as the convoy starts away again.

  “Sheesh.” Rey lifts his top lip at the disgruntled motorist. “Little bit of patience, buddy.”

  “Yeah, well, not everyone takes it upon themselves to stop wherever the hell they want around here.” I pull my phone out as we approach my apartment building, noting a new message from Kendall.

  K: Take your time ;)

  A selfie accompanies the message: her reclined against that Toby guy as he leans on the car door, tossing devil horns.

  Ugh.

  “Ladies first.” Rey holds the door open, throwing me a wink as I pass by with a frown.

  He follows me up the stairs, hands in pockets as he silently takes in the details of the worn yet tidy complex.

  “What are you thinking?” I shouldn’t ask, but the observations that rest on the tip of his tongue are damn near readable in his eyes.

  “Nothing, really.” He shrugs.

  He’s thinking how horrible it would be to live here.

  He’s thanking his lucky stars that he doesn’t have to be one of us—the common people—anymore.

  He’s regretting his decision to come up with me.

  At least, I know that’s what I’d be thinking if I was used to flash five-star hotels and being waited on hand and foot.

  I give him an once-over as I punch the code in our door. He bends over the balustrade, both hands braced on the painted rail as he stares down at the ground floor. Rey’s lean, but not lanky. Just tall and not overly muscular or built, although the lines of his arms suggest that playing keeps him fit enough. Regardless, his clothes hang well from his frame, and I find myself staring a little too long at where his black jeans hang from his ass.

  “Home sweet home,” I say dryly to gain his attention.

  He pushes off the rail and spins my way, face impassive as he takes the lead and strides through the door. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?

  His head tilts to take in the modest apartment. “Holy fuck. There’s like nothing in here.”

  “There’s a sofa, and a TV,” I point out. “What else do you want?”

  “Aren’t chicks supposed to have a million cushions, and like, little knickknack things everywhere?” He wanders across to the windows to check out the view of the street.

  I glance around at the space with new eyes, trying to see it from a stranger’s point of view. I guess he’s right; there’s nothing that’s uniquely Kendall or me in here. “If I had free cash at the end of the month then maybe there’d be more knickknack things,” I surmise. “But I suppose we’ve got all we need.”

  “We?” His brow is hard when he turns to face me. “Do you live here with Café Girl?” His gaze darts to the few photos stacked on our short kitchen counter as though to analyze them for clues.

  I chuckle at his nickname for her. “Kendall. Yeah.”

  Rey returns his focus to me, seemingly satisfied. His eyes soften, holding mine a beat too long. The gentle andante of my heart quickens to a definite moderato.

  “Anyway.” I turn like the boy-awkward introvert I am, and get my ass in motion. “I better grab this damn violin so they don’t start a riot down there, right?”

  “I guess.” He calls after me as I step out of sight. “Are you nervous?”

  “About opening?” I slide the vinyl case from beneath my bed.

  “Yeah,” he shouts, his footsteps moving around the living room.

  “I guess.” I’d be peculiar if I wasn’t, right?

  After all, it’s not every day you get to step out in front of an audience that size … unless you’re Rey.

  “They’re just people, Tabby.” He startles me from my door, shoulder casually rested on the frame, hands slung in his pockets again. “If you don’t give a fuck what they think, then you’ll be fine.”

  “Easier said than done.” Especially when I still play the popularity game.

  I can’t afford to throw caution to the wind. I still have to do whatever will please the masses until I can build that dedicated following. Then I can step outside my comfort zone.

  “Why does their opinion matter?” He strides into the room while I fuss pointlessly with my case.

  I turn my head and take a moment to look at him as he stands beside me, watching intently for my answer. His arms are folded across his chest now, head slight
ly cocked. His eyes … God, they’re so intense. They’re the kind that strip away all the layers of bullshit and take a peek deep inside your soul.

  I feel bare. Naked. Totally exposed and utterly vulnerable.

  “If I want to make it big I have to make the crowd happy, right?” I lift an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you don’t care what your fans think?”

  He shakes his head as he shifts to the foot of my bed and takes a seat. “Not always. No matter what you do, you can’t win over everyone. As long as you’re confident you brought your best game, then so what if you get a shitty review or some troll on your social media the next day? Make yourself proud, and then the confidence will come naturally.”

  “Is that what you do?” My thumbs stroke the silver latches on my case while I study his reaction.

  His eyes fall to my bedspread, his mouth twitching at the corner, the slightest crinkle to his eyes before he answers telling me he withholds the whole truth. “In a way, I guess.”

  What is his deal? If I hadn’t googled Rey Thomas like a total creeper last night, if I didn’t know he was a rock star worth a pretty penny, I would be mistaken for seeing nothing but an everyday—albeit alternate—guy sitting before me. Yet I did look him up, and having read some of the stories I did about him, I can’t connect the two seemingly opposite personalities.

  Womaniser.

  Loud.

  Arrogant.

  Driven.

  Some of the words journalists used to describe the self-made musician who packed up everything he owned at age nineteen and moved halfway across the country with nothing but his like-minded brother and a dream. His attitude makes you think he’s been gifted everything on a silver platter, but reading his biography shows his history has been anything but easy.

  Seeing the sad reflection in his eyes as he traces the fold of my bedding with his finger is proof enough that something dark lurks beneath the surface.

  “I think I have everything I need.”

  He nods, snapping out of his trance to look at me. “Cool.”

  “Why did you do this? Really?”

  He frowns, and then stands to move to my bedroom window before he answers. “It seemed like the best I could do after Rick fucked you over.” He keeps his gaze trained on the street below, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know. I recognize a lie when I hear one. “They’re back out the front again.”